Signs, Symbols and Dreams   This is the second story of what will
eventually be a four or five part series, entitled "Alchemy." Alchemy,
which originated in the Middle Ages, was the art of transmuting baser
metals into gold, and of finding an elixir of life. This was an arduous,
mysterious process shrouded in secrets. It required great sacrifices from
its practitioners, but promised immense rewards to those who did not give
up. Rather like the process of finding love in the real world….
 
 This story is M/M Fraser/Kowalski slash, and rated NC-17.
 
 Note: In this story, some time after the events in "Burning Down the
House", Fraser has found a new apartment instead of living at the Canadian
consulate.
 
 
 
 Signs, Symbols and Dreams
 
 © Caroline Alert
 
 
 *Damn! Fraser's been gone for an hour and a half! What the hell did he
do, take Dief for a stroll all the way to friggin' Springfield?*
 
 Stanley Ray Kowalski was very, very annoyed with Benton Fraser. Not for
the first time. But his annoyance couldn't blot out the unaccustomed worry
niggling at his insides. When Fraser had left his apartment early that
morning to go home and feed Dief, Ray could've sworn that he was eager to
return so they could make love again; and he'd given his word that he'd
come back in half an hour with his wolf in tow, so they could spend the
rest of the weekend together at Ray's place. But though Fraser's word was
normally like a vow, an hour and a half had already gone by—and there was
no sign of him. That wasn't like Fraser, wasn't like him at all. Something
had obviously gone wrong. But the Mountie was so Stone Age he didn't even
own a phone, so Ray hadn't been able to call him and find out what it was.
Worse yet, Ben had taken Ray's own car in order to go home and feed his
wolf, so Kowalski had no transportation. So here he was, stewing in the
back of a cab he'd been forced to take to Fraser's apartment to find out
what had happened to him. 
 
 *Where the hell is he? I don't care how mad Dief was at Fraser for
ignorin' him, don't care if he made him jump through goddamn flamin'
hoops--he shoulda' been back before now!*
 
 The slender, spiky-haired blonde detective was still fuming inwardly when
the cab driver pulled over to the curb about half a block away from
Fraser's apartment building. *Doesn't matter what kinda screwy explanation
he comes up with--even if he says he was buildin' an igloo for the winter,
Fraser's gonna owe me big time for this little stunt. Big time!* When the
cab rolled to a stop, he jumped out instantly and strode off, anxious to
bag his errant Mountie. But a loud bellow caught him by surprise before
he'd taken more than a few steps. 
 
 "Hey! What's with ya? Think I do this for free or somethin'?" the cab
driver yelled. "Pay up!"
 
 He realized with a start that he'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of
Ben that he'd almost walked off without paying him. Annoyed at himself, he
turned back and lowered his head for a second to dig some cash out of the
pocket of his jeans. "Sorry. Here ya go…"
 
 "Thanks."
 
 As the taxi drove away, he turned and walked on towards Fraser's
building. Just then, his lover walked out of it. Both relieved and
exasperated, Ray opened his mouth to call out to him. But he faltered as
Fraser turned his head and smiled at another man who walked out of the
building hard on his heels. He was a stranger Ray didn't recognize. They
were talking as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, and when Ray realized
that they hadn't seen him, he froze without knowing why. They didn't
notice him. Absorbed in their conversation, they turned right and moved
off down the street, away from him, still oblivious to his presence. 
 
 Surprised and inexplicably uneasy at this unexpected turn of events, Ray
followed them quietly. He told himself that if Ben turned around and saw
him, he'd walk up and join them. But he didn't, and as Ray walked, he
stared hard at the stranger. His cop radar on the alert, he started
cataloguing him from force of habit: Six feet, maybe 180 lbs. Slender
build. Dark hair. Balding on top. Olive skin. Big eyes, a big nose. He was
wearing a long, soft coat that practically screamed money. He looked neat.
Stylish, in a way Ray knew he would never be—but tough, too. 
 
 That air of toughness deepened Ray's uneasiness somehow. Got him puzzling
about all this. First Ben, who was usually so punctual it was sickening,
and who'd promised to come back right away, was incredibly late getting
back to his place. Then when he tracked him down, he found him going out
with a stranger—despite his other promise, which was that they'd go out to
breakfast as soon as he got back. So Fraser had broken two promises to him
in one morning, something he'd never done in their entire partnership.
Plus, he was suddenly going off with some stranger. Ray had stumbled onto
something weird—something he didn't like. 
 
 He tried to explain it away to himself, though. Ben had a habit of
picking up strays—maybe that's what this guy was. Maybe he needed help, or
money or something. But Ray rejected that scenario almost as soon as he
thought of it. The stranger just didn't fit the profile. That coat he was
wearing cost more than Ray made in a month. Wasn't too likely he was
looking for a handout. And his air of competence, of toughness, implied
that it was more likely that he ate strays for breakfast than that he was
one. Hell, he looked tough enough to eat a certain Mountie.
 
 *So what gives?* Ray wondered. *There's somethin' familiar about that
guy. Dunno what. Looks like a wiseguy. Who is he? And what the hell's
Frayzh doin' with him?* Without making a conscious decision to, he found
himself moving. Going after the two men. Shadowing them as they walked
away. *Maybe Benny's in some kinda' trouble. Maybe that's why he didn't
call or come back. Maybe this guy caught him when he came home, maybe he's
being strong-armed or kidnapped or somethin'.*
 
 But he realized that couldn't be it either. Their body language was all
wrong. They looked loose, relaxed, completely at ease—even intimate. They
were walking side by side, shoulder to shoulder, so absorbed in each other
that they didn't even see him; and they were both smiling. No coercion
there, not even the hint of a threat. They looked more like two old
friends. Ray should've been happy—or at least relieved. It was obvious
that Ben wasn't being kidnapped, that he was with a friend.
 
 But the realization just deepened the uneasiness in his gut. They're
thick as thieves, he thought, resenting it. Hating the idea that Eagle Eye
Fraser could be so absorbed in anyone else that he wouldn't notice him.
 
 As Ray tailed them, he noticed that the stranger was telling Fraser a
funny story. His hands moved in animated, graceful gestures as he spoke,
and Ben was watching him and smiling as they walked. He hated that too. It
made him feel left out, like the only guy in the room who didn't get the
joke. But he was too far away to hear what they were saying, so he
lengthened his stride to catch up with them. He suddenly wanted to step
between them, to interrupt their cozy little chat. Find out what the hell
was up.
 
 But then he stopped, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights of a
very large truck, as a memory filled his mind. He'd seen Stella like this
before. He wasn't proud of it, of being so desperate he'd stalked his own
wife, but he'd done it more than once. Watched her walk hand in hand with
other men after their divorce, watched her smile at them and even kiss
them. An old feeling of helplessness, of utter betrayal washed over him,
and suddenly the innocent scene in front of him took on entirely different
tones. Much darker ones. The stranger's broad grin suddenly seemed sly,
almost a leer, and Ben's answering smile a wanton look of invitation. 
 
 Ray's mouth tightened into grim lines as a seed of suspicion was planted
in his head. He took a few quick, silent steps closer to the two men. Not
trying to join them now--trying to eavesdrop. *He told me he was just
gonna feed Dief and walk him, then come right back with him. So where's
the wolf? And who the hell is this guy?*
 
 As he watched with narrowed eyes, the tall, skinny guy threw his arm
around Ben's shoulders and squeezed them as he murmured something to him.
Ray couldn't quite hear the words, but he didn't have to. Fraser's face
lit up and he laughed, actually laughed out loud. 
 
 Ray's heart stopped. *He's touchin' him,* he thought, instantly angry.
*Gettin' intimate with him--and Ben's lettin' him! He's even laughin'.*
 
 It amazed him. Fraser hardly ever laughed like that. He was way too
serious. In the year he'd known him, he could count the times on one hand
that he'd ever seen him let go like that. So how had this guy, this
stranger who Ray had never even seen before, gotten him to beam like that,
to laugh out loud?
 
 The answer to that little riddle was obvious. The tall guy might be a
stranger to Ray, but not to Fraser. By the look of it, they'd known each
other for a long time. They were close. Tight. Good buddies. Hell, maybe
they were even more than that. But he'd been Ben's partner for a year. So
how could he be that close to someone he'd never met, had never even seen
before? Who Fraser had never mentioned? Had Ben been keeping secrets from
him? As Ray stared at them, stunned, the bad feeling he'd had earlier
about Fraser's past, that something connected with it was about to go
wrong, swept over him again even more strongly.
 
 His suspicions grew even darker. He suddenly wondered if Fraser had set
this little reunion up himself. *Maybe that's why he was in such a hurry
to get outta my place all of a sudden! He told me he was only goin' home
to feed Dief, but maybe he really came to meet this guy. Jesus—what if
he's Ben's lover?*
 
 His heart started to beat fast, too fast, like he'd been running. But his
legs felt strangely weak, like they would hardly hold him up. He halted
for a second in pained confusion as he watched the two men stroll along
ahead of him. Ray had thought Fraser was in love with him, but the way he
was looking at this guy made him think he'd been wrong about that, made
him think maybe the Mountie really loved the stranger instead. Anger and
jealousy roiled inside him, tightening his chest. Cutting off his breath. 
 
 *No, please!* a little voice inside him moaned, not wanting to accept the
growing suspicion that he'd been betrayed. *Not again! First Stella, and
now Ben—*
 
 *But look at them!* he argued back, staring at the two men who were
walking along ahead of him. *Look at how close they are! Look at that!*
 
 But that inner voice urged him to wait, not to jump to conclusions.
*Fraser never lies. Maybe it's not what it looks like. Maybe it's not what
you think. Maybe this guy just came over and surprised him. Maybe Fraser
didn't even know he was coming.* Hoping against hope that might be the
case, he forced his numb body forward again, edged a few steps closer to
them, listening hard.
 
 Fraser said, "Well I really don't think that's fair, Ray. After all, I
invited you to breakfast. So I should pay."
 
 That did it. That little snippet of conversation killed his last, faint
hope that this wasn't what it looked like, that he might've mistaken the
situation. Not only had Fraser known he was coming, he'd invited him to
breakfast! *And he sure as hell didn't do that from my place, so he
must've called him after he left. So they didn't meet by chance. Fraser
set this up. He told me he was comin' back to my place, that he was gonna
go out to breakfast with ME, then he ran home and called this guy, and
went out with him instead. So he lied to me. Fraser lied! And there's only
one reason why he'd do that, and why he wouldn't come back.…* 
 
 His mind reeled. *They're lovers all right. He left my bed and ran to
him. So he wants him more than me.*
 
 A loud roaring sound filled Ray's head. His heart fell to the street and
shattered in little pieces around his boots. He'd given Fraser everything:
his body, his heart, his soul. He'd trusted him more than he'd ever
trusted anyone in his life except Stella. He'd wanted to make him happy,
but the Mountie had betrayed him. Fraser had said he needed him, even
implied that he loved him, then ditched him for another guy, an old lover,
after just one night! Or maybe it was worse than that. Maybe he'd been
seeing this guy on the sly all along, even before they came together. He
swayed, then his legs folded under him, just gave out. He sank down onto
the pavement, dazed. Sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and hung his
aching head in his hands, dizzy with shock as his new life, his new love,
crumbled to pieces in front of him.
 
 Wild, chaotic thoughts flashed through the white noise in his mind. *He
set this whole thing up. Lied to me so he could run over here and be with
him…. On our first morning together! Damn—was I that bad? Was he usin' me
the whole time? I could kill him! Take him apart with my bare hands. I
should kill both of 'em.*
 
 Filled with rage, for a wild second, he considered it. Imagined running
down the street and throwing himself on the Mountie, pinning him to the
ground and beating the crap out of him. And if Mr. Wiseguy objected, he'd
jump Bogart all over him too. Be glad to.
 
 *But who the hell IS he?*
 
 Then he suddenly remembered something. *Fraser called him Ray.* In the
midst of his revenge fantasy, it hit him. Another revelation, another
blow. *Jesus—is that Vecchio? The real Ray Vecchio?* He held his head
again, struck by another wave of dizziness. *No, that can't be. It can't!
He's gone! If he'd come back, Welsh woulda known. He woulda told me!*
 
 But then he remembered two things. The first was Ben's voice last night,
saying, "There's a message on your machine, Ray." The problem was, he
hadn't listened to it. He'd been in too much of a hurry to get Fraser in
bed then, and too worried about why he hadn't come back this morning, to
replay it yet. So maybe Welsh had tried to call and give him the big news,
and he'd just missed it. 
 
 The second thing he remembered tied into that little feeling he'd had
that he'd seen the guy walking with Fraser somewhere before. Now he
recalled where: on a little 3x5 photo he'd seen in his file about a year
ago. He'd studied that snapshot when he first took on his job, his life.
And he'd seen Vecchio's face again, not long after, on a postcard he'd
sent Fraser. No question--the guy with Ben had the same dark hair and
green eyes, the same big nose as that picture in the file, and on that
postcard. He was Detective Third Grade Raymond Vecchio, Fraser's old
partner. 
 
 *Too bad that goddamn file didn't have one important little bit of
information,* he thought bitterly. *Too bad it didn't say that Vecchio and
Fraser weren't just partners, they were lovers!*
 
 *God, I've been stupid,* he moaned to himself. *So stupid! I shoulda'
seen it. I shoulda' guessed! Shit, the line on that postcard Vecchio sent
him was obvious enough: "Cold out here—warm me up!" That's a come on if I
ever heard one! And as if that weren't enough of a clue, in the picture on
it, Vecchio had his arm around Ben! Hell, he practically had his head on
his shoulder. And they were both grinning like fools—No, like lovers.*
 
 He ground his teeth together, remembering how he'd hardly given the
postcard any thought at the time. *How could I have been so damn blind?
And why the fuck didn't Fraser tell me? He musta got dumped. Vecchio left
him behind when he went undercover, after all…. So he must've been
embarrassed. Too embarrassed to ever mention it.*
 
 Suddenly, other things made sense as well. Fraser's unprecedented tears
the other night, for one.  *Torrance's little kiss-off musta reminded him
of the way Vecchio left him.* And Fraser's previous experience with men,
for another. *He musta got it with Vecchio. At least some of it…. Maybe
there were other guys I still don't know about. He must've given me a
fling just 'cuz there was no one else to turn to. But now that Vecchio's
back, he doesn't care about me anymore. Doesn't want me anymore. He lied
to me—about everything.*
 
 The more he thought about it, the more his anguish grew. *How do I even
know he was callin' out my name in bed? All that "Ray, Ray,
RAY!"stuff--maybe he meant Ray Vecchio! Maybe he was thinkin' about him
the whole time he was with me. God! When I touched him, was he imagining
Vecchio's hands on him instead o' mine?*
 
 Ray's pain was paralyzing. He didn't move, didn't even try to follow them
any further. He just sat there, his boots trailing in the gutter, feeling
like a fool as he turned his aching head to watch the two men walk off
down the street together. Because he didn't know how it had happened, or
why, or even when—but Vecchio, Fraser's old partner, was back from his
undercover assignment. The real Ray Vecchio. Mr. Armani. The guy who could
make Ben laugh the way he, Ray Kowalski, had seldom managed to. The guy
Ben really loved. 
 
 He didn't even ask himself how he could compete with that; how he could
get Ben back.
 
 He already knew the answer. He couldn't.
 

**************************************************************************
*********
 
 "It all happened kind of fast," Ray told Ben, his face growing somber.
"My leavin', I mean. I coulda' stayed longer, I got tons of inside stuff
on a bunch o' heavy hitters as it was…. Enough to take 'em down, maybe
even to cripple the Iguana's southwest operation. But there was this kind
o' feud goin' on, between Armando Langostini—the Bookman, the guy I was
supposed to be—and this other hitman. And things finally just got too hot
for me. So I had to get out." 
 
 Ben and Ray sat at a table by a window, having breakfast in the same
little café they often used to eat in, before Ray left. That had been
Ray's idea; and warmed by the unexpected sentimentality in his friend's
choice, Fraser had agreed. He hadn't eaten there very often after Ray's
departure, because it was bad enough being haunted by his father's ghost;
he hadn't wanted to see Ray in every corner too. But it felt good to be
sitting there with him now, with the morning sun streaming in the window.
It lit the side of Ray's face, a bright counterpoint to the dark story he
was telling, of the life he'd been living for the past year. And the
knowledge that Ray was out of that life now, out of danger, was even
better. 
 
 "The capo I was working for—Giancarlo Iguana, the head of the southwest
branch of the family—he likes to pit his lieutenants against each other.
Calls it 'healthy competition'," Ray went on. "But the truth is, he
figures if they're busy tearin' at each other's throats, they won't have
time to get ambitious enough to try takin' him out."
 
 Fraser nodded. "Actually, Ray, it might interest you to know that Louis
the XIV, sometimes known as "The Sun King", employed a similar strategy
with the numerous nobles in his enormous court. He invented amazingly
elaborate rituals concerning all aspects of daily life at Versailles:
dressing, eating meals, paying calls on one's friends…. And he required
everyone to follow them to the letter, or risk being disgraced. He felt it
would keep them all too busy to indulge in plotting against his throne. As
it happened, however—"
 
 "Fraser!" Ray interrupted. "Lemme finish before you start with the
history lesson, okay? You can lecture me about the French Revolution
later."
 
 "Sorry," Fraser apologized. "Go on."
 
 "Okay. Lemme see, where was I…. Oh, yeah. The Family. Well, I got along
all right with all of Iguana's lieutenants, for the most part. Had 'em
convinced I was the Bookman, this stone killer they were too afraid to
mess with—all except one. James Frank Maxwell, a.k.a. "Jimmy the Crusher".
He got that little nickname 'cuz he has this charming little habit of
handcuffing his victims to garage door supports, then crushing them
against the doors with a car."
 
 "Good God," Fraser muttered.
 
 "Yeah. Guy's a real psycho," Ray agreed grimly. "But clever. The cops
suspected him of offin' at least eight guys in the last few years, but
he's good at hidin' bodies out in the desert, and he always torched the
cars he used for the murders, so there was never any evidence left to tie
him to anything…. Anyway, Maxwell had this real thing about the Bookman.
Hated his guts. There was bad blood between 'em before I ever stepped into
his shoes, and it didn't get any better while I was there. I couldn't
stand him either. But Giancarlo was always throwin' us together, trying to
get us to compete with each other for contract kills 'n stuff—"
 
 Ben's eyes widened.
 
 Ray grimaced. "I'd forgotten that look," he muttered.
 
 "What look?"
 
 Vecchio smiled, his mouth a bit wry. "You know, that thing you do—the Big
Eyed Mountie Look. Guaranteed to make anyone feel guilty, even if they
haven't done anything."
 
 Ben lowered his head. "Ray, I—I didn't mean that—" 
 
 "Don't worry," Ray went on. "I didn't kill anybody. I did some things I'm
not proud of—I had to, to play the part. But not that." Still, for a
moment, his eyes became bleak. Darker than Ben had ever seen them. He
looked out the window, but Ben knew he wasn't seeing the street outside.
His thoughts were somewhere else. In a place where he'd done things he
didn't like to remember. 
 
 Ben couldn't help wondering what they were—but in the next breath, he
knew he would never ask. Not because he thought Ray wouldn't tell him; but
because he might. Because of their friendship, he might feel obliged to
confess the things he'd done that he wasn't proud of, if Fraser asked him
to; and he didn't want to pressure him. That was something that should
come from Ray in his own time, if it ever came at all--not because Fraser
had pried it out of him. He even felt a bit guilty that he'd made Ray feel
uncomfortable, even for a moment, about his actions while undercover.
"It's all right, Ray," he said. "I know it must've been hard for you. I'm
sure you just did what you had to do." 
 
 But Ray didn't answer, and his eyes were still far away.
 
 Fraser knew he wasn't reaching him. The words he'd said seemed paltry,
inadequate to convey his meaning: that he understood about the dark side
everyone carried around inside them. That he knew Ray must've had to delve
deeply into that side of himself while he was away, maybe so deeply that
it had frightened him. That he knew all about the guilt and regret that
came from having done things—terrible things—which you hadn't thought
yourself capable of. "I wasn't there, Ray," he said quietly, "so I can't
really know what you went through. But I had my own-- What I'm trying to
say is, after Victoria…. No matter what happened, I'd be the last person
to judge you for it."
 
 Slowly, as if it was hard for him to pull himself back to their table, to
their conversation, from the black place he'd gone to in his memory, Ray
finally turned his head back and looked at him. Opened himself for a
second in a dark, wordless look, a slanting green shaft of pain and
regret, laced with sorrow that they'd both had to dance with their own
demons. 
 
 The look harrowed Ben's heart. *God,* he thought. *It must've been worse
than I imagined.* What Ray had told him was bad enough, but that look said
he hadn't revealed the half of it. He found himself reaching out to him.
"Ray, I—"
 
 But Ray withdrew instinctively. As if Fraser's gesture told him he'd
revealed more than he'd intended, he looked away. Pulled his hands away so
that he couldn't be touched. Blanked his eyes so they couldn't be easily
read. At first, Ben thought he was watching his defenses going up
again—but then he watched Ray change in a way he'd never seen before. 
 
 In a second, he became hard. Dangerous. A snake clothed in Armani.
"Thanks, Frayzh," he said, smiling as calmly if they'd been discussing the
weather. He sat back in his chair, the picture of negligent ease, one
long, elegant hand toying idly with a spoon. "Don't mind tellin' you,
though, it wasn't easy not to. Kill people, I mean. It's what the Bookman
did, after all." And he smiled. A tiny, hard little smile that didn't warm
his eyes. They'd gone as cold and hard as emeralds, and they held Fraser's
with a razor-sharp intensity, daring him to break their hold. To look
away. "I—He--actually liked it. And he was good at it, too."
 
 For a moment, Fraser froze. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. He suddenly
realized that Ray had gone away—and in his place sat Armando Langostini.
His alter ego. And the transformation was chilling. He'd thought Ray was
withdrawing, but he'd done just the opposite. He'd opened himself again,
only in a different way. He was showing him who he had been—a tiny glimpse
of what he'd had to make himself into to survive.
 
 Fraser felt like the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped forty
degrees. Like the long, elegant fingers playing with the spoon inches just
inches away from him could've slit his throat with equal ease. He wanted
to look away from the cold green eyes that had locked with his, that bored
into him as if they could break him with their sheer intensity. Wanted to
say, Don't. Please don't, Ray. Don't do this.
 
 But he couldn't. Because whatever Ray had done, whoever he had become, it
had all been in the name of Duty. To bring a bunch of murderers to
justice. To stop their killing. If he didn't understand that, who would?
Who could? And how could he blame Ray for wanting him to? If he looked
away from this—from him—he wouldn't be worthy of his friendship. Even when
he'd been lost in the dark, even after he knew he'd meant to leave him, to
betray him because of his passion for Victoria, Ray had never looked away
from him. Ray had loved him that much. So Fraser didn't flinch. Didn't
look away. He stared deep into the cold green eyes of the Bookman, and
said quietly, "Yes. I know. But you're not him, Ray."
 
 The Bookman's eyes held his for a moment longer, then he looked away.
Down at the table, down at the spoon in his hands. Down at whoever—or
whatever--it was he saw reflected in its shiny surface.
 
 Ben felt their gaze break with an almost physical snap. Saw Ray's body
relax, saw the lethal tension ebb from it as Armando Langostini
relinquished his hold on it, and Ray Vecchio returned. He felt relieved,
like he'd just fought an invisible battle and won.
 
 Ray didn't look as certain. He kept staring down at the table, his eyes
quietly reflective now, and it was awhile before he spoke again. Finally,
he said very softly, "But I was." 
 
 Ben had no answer for that. He felt instinctively that Ray had been
trying to tell him something in that moment of dark self revelation.
Something more, even, than who he'd been. Something, perhaps, of what he'd
done. But what? "Ray—"
 
 Vecchio cut him off. "I had to fake two murders while I was bein' him,"
he said, still looking down at his hands. "And they were watchin' me all
the time. Both times, I was really sweating. So many things could've gone
wrong, and Maxwell was just waiting for me to make a mistake so he could
splat me on his garage door…." 
 
 Ray broke off suddenly, as shadows suddenly swam in the depths of his
eyes again. He shook his head in an effort to banish them, then smiled
quickly at him again. "What a funny guy," he joked. But his smile was
small and tight, and Ben knew it was for his benefit. So that he wouldn't
think Ray had been damaged by what he'd just been through. Not for the
first time, he thought how hard it must've been for Ray, who loved his
family so, to leave them—to leave everyone and everything he knew behind,
to live among men who killed for a living, knowing that the slightest
little mistake might be his last. 
 
 That little smile was supposed to keep him from knowing how much all that
had hurt. It didn't work. Fraser said quietly, "I'm sorry, Ray. It must've
been terrible."
 
 Ray's jaw tightened, and Fraser saw him swallow hard. "Yeah. It was," he
said at last. "But with a little help from the Feds, I got the two
victims, the two I was s'posed to kill, safely outta state, and set 'em up
in new identities. And they sang like little birds in return, so the Feds
were happy. That turned out okay. But the second time, Maxwell was on the
scene, and somethin'—I don't know what—made him suspicious. After that, he
was on a mission to get me, even though he didn't have orders from
Giancarlo to do it. He just wanted to take me out." Ray rubbed the scar on
his cheekbone unconsciously, his eyes bleak and far away. "He sent a
couple of his boys over to my house one night, at about two in the
morning—" Ray drew a deep breath. "It was ugly, Benny. Real ugly. Let's
just say that if it hadn't been for my butler, Nero, I wouldn't be sittin'
here now. He saved my life."
 
 Fraser raised his glass of orange juice. "To Nero," he said quietly,
meaning it.
 
 Ray blinked, then raised his own glass. "Yeah. To Nero, wherever he may
be," he said, clinking his glass against Fraser's. "Helluva guy. And a
good friend when I needed one. The only friend I had out there, actually."
 
 Fraser felt a pang at those words. He felt jealous of Nero, wished that
he could've been the one at Ray's side in his hour of need instead. But at
the same time, he realized that he'd had his own Nero, a friend in his own
hour of need after Ray Vecchio left: his new Ray, Stanley Raymond
Kowalski. So his jealousy was tempered with gratitude that neither he nor
Ray Vecchio had really been alone, even while parted from each other. "I'm
glad you had someone to stand by you, Ray," he said. *And I'm glad I had
someone too….*
 
 That thought reminded him that he was neglecting his other friend
shamefully at the moment. He looked at a nearby clock, and saw with
surprise that nearly an hour and forty five minutes had passed since he'd
left Ray's apartment. *Oh dear.* He was over an hour late getting back,
and given Kowalski's impatience, the detective would probably be climbing
the walls by now, wondering where he was. He got to his feet suddenly.
"Would you excuse me for a minute?"
 
 Ray blinked in surprise. "You're not leavin', are ya?"
 
 Fraser shook his head. Part of him, the selfish part, wished he
could--wanted to get back to Ray and their lovemaking. But he knew Vecchio
wouldn't understand if he left their first reunion in a year so quickly,
before they'd had a chance to fill each other in on everything that had
happened during that time. It wouldn't be right to run off when he'd just
returned after such a long absence. 
 
 Deep inside, he was afraid that if he did, Ray would regret the things
he'd told him, regret revealing even as much as he had of what he'd gone
through. If he left now, Ray would think he was turning his eyes away.
Turning away from him, because he'd shown him a glimpse of the truth. So
he said, "No, I'm not leaving. I just remembered, I have to make a phone
call. I won't be a minute."
 
 "Oh. Sure. Go ahead," Ray nodded, looking relieved.
 
 He headed for the coffee shop counter, paused near the man standing
behind it. Mr. Dinardo, who owned the café, had been kind enough to let
Fraser use his phone in the past. "Excuse me, Mr. Dinardo," he said,
"Would you mind if I used your phone? It's a local call," he assured him.
 
 Dinardo nodded amiably as he polished a glass. "Sure, help yourself. You
know where it is."
 
 Fraser smiled. "Thank you kindly." But when he dialed Ray's number,
though he let it ring several times, Ray didn't answer. Fraser frowned. It
was over an hour since he'd left, so it didn't seem likely that Ray could
still be in the shower. So why hadn't he answered the phone? When his
recorded message sounded, he was disappointed. He'd hoped to explain the
situation to Ray himself. Still, he left a detailed message telling him
where he'd gone, apologizing for his lateness and swearing that he would
return within the hour, after he and Ray Vecchio had finished catching up.
"I'll see you soon, Ray," he promised.
 
 But after he hung up, he hesitated by the phone, troubled by a faint
sense that something was wrong. For a second, he considered asking Ray to
come back to Kowalski's apartment with him. That way, they could continue
their conversation, and he could also keep his promise to return to his
new lover. Plus, he could then introduce his friends to each other. But
then he rejected the idea. It occurred to him that Kowalski might do
something typically impulsive like coming to the door to greet him without
a stitch of clothing on, or saying, "Well! It's about time you got your
cute little ass back here, Frayzh," or something equally endearing but
hideously embarrassing that would give them away. And he didn't even like
to think how Ray Vecchio might react to something like that.
 
 He decided that it might be better to stay and talk with his old friend
awhile longer. And not merely to spare himself possible embarrassment,
either. He suspected that Ray needed to be with him, to get some of his
dark experiences off his chest. He doubted that he would unburden himself
to anyone else in the same way. He knew instinctively that he would never
reveal Armando Langostini to his mother or sisters, as he had to him. Of
course, the Police Department had psychiatrists available for counseling,
but he also knew that Vecchio would never voluntarily see one. So for his
sake, he decided to stay. *If Ray doesn't get my phone message for some
reason, I'll explain it all to him when I go back to his apartment,* he
told himself. 
 
 Then he headed back to the table where Vecchio sat, wondering who he
would find there this time; his friend, or Armando Langostini.
 
 To Ben's surprise, when he returned to the table, the emotional landscape
had changed yet again. Ray was staring out the window with a relaxed,
almost dreamy smile on his face. He was so deeply abstracted that he
started when Fraser sat down across from him. 
 
 "I got somethin' else to tell ya, Benny," Ray said. "Somethin' big."
 
 "Let me guess. You were offered a promotion due to your undercover work?"
Fraser hazarded. It seemed a likely scenario. Ray had said he'd gathered a
lot of useful information on powerful people within the Mafia, that his
undercover assignment had been a success. It stood to reason that arrests
would soon begin, and that his contribution to that would not be
overlooked by his superiors.
 
 But Ray shook his head. "No. Well, yeah. I mean—they offered me one."
 
 "But you didn't take it?" Fraser guessed again, surprised.
 
 Ray shook his head. "Naw. They were gonna give me my own division—make me
a Lieutenant—but the catch was, I'd have to transfer to New York. And I
would've had to leave right away. And it just didn't seem right. You know,
Ma's not gettin' any younger, and she hasn't even had a chance to get used
to me bein' back yet—it didn't seem right to run off on her after just
bein' away for a year."
 
 Fraser nodded. "I understand, Ray." And he did—but he didn't. Or rather,
he sensed that there was something more to Ray's rejection of his
promotion than what he'd said. He searched his friend's face, his eyes, to
see what he was holding back.
 
 After a moment of that, Ray smiled. "Okay, you're right. It's not just
because o' Ma. It's what I want, too. I've been thinkin' about this place
for a year," he admitted, a bit sheepishly. "About the 27th, and Comiskey
Park, and the Bulls—it's home, you know? And after everything that's
happened, I just wanted to come home for awhile. Get my head straight." 
 
 "I can understand that. And I'm glad you'll be staying," Fraser said.
 
 For a moment, silence fell again as they both smiled at each other. 
 
 Then Ray said, "And I wanted to see you too, Benny. I missed ya."
 
 The simple words took Fraser by surprise. He felt moisture spring to his
eyes, and he blinked rapidly, hoping that Ray hadn't noticed. "Me too,
Ray," he managed to get out. "Me too. I mean, I missed you too, not that I
missed myself--"
 
 Ray laughed. "Yeah, I got it. And there's another reason I wanted to stay
in Chicago," he went on, surprising him again. "That's my big news. My
assignment in Vegas wasn't all bad. While I was away, I met someone.
Someone special." He passed a small photo across the table to Fraser, with
an air of suppressed excitement.
 
 Fraser gazed down at the picture. A beautiful young woman who looked as
if she were 25-30 years old stared back at him with a smile. She had
shoulder length dark hair and striking blue eyes in a heart-shaped face;
and Fraser was struck by the sweetness of her smile. Now he knew why Ray
had worn such a dreamy, love-struck expression when he returned to their
table. He was in love with this woman. 
 
 Staring down at her photo, Ben felt both happy and sad, and a faint stab
of something that must've been jealousy. Happy because Ray had found
someone to love, and because he was a good man who deserved that, but sad
because before Ray said another word about her, he knew that things
between them would never be the same again—because of her. In the old
days, they'd practically lived in each other's pockets; and he'd been
looking forward to spending a lot of time with Ray again, now that he was
back in Chicago. But since Ray had a girlfriend now, he'd undoubtedly want
to spend the majority of his time with her instead. Ben knew he shouldn't
be jealous, because after all, he'd just found someone special himself.
But he couldn't help it. Though Ray Vecchio had been returned to him safe
and sound, his prayers hadn't entirely been answered, for their friendship
wouldn't be the same anymore. "She's lovely," he said, hiding his regrets
for Ray's sake. "Who is she?"
 
 Vecchio's smile grew even wider. "Serena Tianni," he said. "My fiance."
 
 Fraser's eyes widened. "You're getting married?" he asked, shocked. Ray
had dated a number of women since they'd met; but he'd never known him to
be this serious about any of them. 
 
 "Yeah. I am," Ray said.
 
 Ben didn't know what to say. For the second time that morning, he was
speechless with surprise. Though Serena was undeniably attractive, he
couldn't help wondering what special qualities she possessed that had made
his friend willing to risk marrying again, after his first marriage had
ended in divorce. But he knew it would be impolite to ask him. So he just
smiled and said, "Congratulations, Ray." Then he handed her picture back
to him carefully. 
 
 "Thanks, Benny." Vecchio cradled the photo in his hands as if were spun
gold, staring down at Serena's image fondly. 
 
 Fraser noticed that his face had softened again, that his eyes were
sparkling with a look of genuine happiness, and he suddenly felt guilty.
The fact that Ray had met a woman he cared for while he was away on his
assignment must've made the dark work he was doing more bearable; and he
should be grateful for that, not jealous. "So tell me more about her," he
urged, curious. "How did you meet her?"
 
 "She's a singer," Ray explained. "She works in this club called Maxi's in
Vegas, where Giancarlo liked to hold a lot of his business meetings. I
heard her singin' one night when I walked in. I couldn't stop starin' at
her; and before I knew it, she was lookin' back."
 
 Fraser smiled, remembering conversations they'd had long ago on the
subject of love at first sight. "So she gave you The Sign, Ray?" 
 
 Veccho grinned. "Yeah. The Sign. The way she looked at me.… I'm tellin'
ya, Benny--that first night, I knew. I knew she was the woman for me, just
like I knew the first time I ever saw Angie." But at the mention of her, a
cloud passed over Ray's face, dimming his smile. Fraser understood why.
With Angie, the Sign hadn't worked out. And like Kowalski, Ray Vecchio
still felt a lot of guilt about his divorce.
 
 "It doesn't have to be that way this time, Ray," Ben said quietly. "The
past is past. And I'm by no means an expert on the subject of marriage,
but I can see that you really love Serena. I'm sure you'll make it work."
 
 Ray looked up at him, and his eyes softened with a look so warm that
Fraser was touched. In that moment, his face lost its recently acquired
toughness, and he looked just the way Fraser remembered him from the old
days. "So. You can still read my mind, huh, Benny?" he asked softly. 
 
 Fraser ducked his head. "Only sometimes, Ray," he said awkwardly, but his
friend's words touched him all the same. The fact that he and Ray still
shared a bond deeper than words warmed him too. 
 
 "Well, thanks. Thanks for the vote o' confidence," Ray added. "I
appreciate it."
 
 Fraser smiled at him, cherishing these private moments with his old
friend because he already knew they would probably be infrequent in the
future. Then, to cheer Ray up again and because he also knew he was dying
to, he said, "Tell me more about Serena."
 
 "She's still in Vegas," Ray said. "I had to fake my own death to get
outta there, 'cuz Maxwell wasn't gonna let up. If I'd stayed, sooner or
later, he'd've killed me. So the Feds helped me stage this phony car
accident where Nero and I both supposedly went up in flames. Then Nero
went off to California, and I came back here. But Serena couldn't just
leave suddenly. Maxwell knew her and he knew we were seein' each other, so
it would've looked way too suspicious if she'd taken off when I 'died'. So
she's gonna be there for two more weeks, then she's hoppin' a plane and
comin' here for good. And five months after that, we're gonna get
married."
 
 "I'm happy for you, Ray," Fraser said.
 
 Ray was practically aglow. "Thanks. Yer gonna love her, Benny, I know it!
She sang pop and torchy type stuff in that club, but she's really into
classical music. She loves all that highbrow stuff you like—Mozart and
Chopin and stuff—and she sings like an angel."
 
 Fraser was intrigued. Serena Tianni did indeed sound special. "I can't
wait to meet her."
 
 "Well, you won't have long to wait. But I'll tell ya, that two weeks is
gonna feel like forever to me. I won't rest easy until she's here with me,
ya know?" Ray looked down at his hands with a pensive expression.
 
 Fraser thought of all the lonely years he'd spent pining hopelessly for
Victoria. "I know, Ray," he said quietly. Then, to divert his friend from
his worry, he asked, "But if you don't mind my asking, why are you waiting
five months before you get married?"
 
 Ray's face tightened oddly at that. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and
just for a second, Fraser saw a trace of unexpected emotion in his
eyes—something like fear. But it was quickly suppressed, so swiftly that
he wasn't sure he'd really seen it. 
 
 Then his friend said, "It's a long story. Actually, I wanted to wait six
months, but Serena talked me down to five. See, the thing is--Serena's
givin' up a lot comin' here, Benny. Her job, her home…. She's never lived
anywhere but Vegas, and she liked it there. She liked singin' in Maxi's,
she has friends there—she was happy. But she agreed to leave all that
behind—to give up everything she knows, for me. Cuz my life is here." He
shook his head, smiling a little in wonderment at that. "Ain't that
somethin'?"
 
 Ben nodded, thinking again of how Kowalski had made mad, passionate love
to him beside his opened door the night before, even after he'd warned him
about it. How he'd been willing to risk his job in order to touch him, and
how much that had moved him. But Serena had done even more for Ray; and
his opinion of her went up another notch because of that. "Yes. Yes, it
is," he said, meaning it.
 
 Ray grew serious again. "I mean, if it was just up to me, I'd marry her
tomorrow. But it isn't. It's gotta be right for her, too. So I wanna give
her time to get used to her new life before we rush down the aisle. I just
wanna make sure she's happy here, you know?" he said earnestly. "So I
figure I'll show her the city, let her get used to my family—and if she
survives all that," he grinned, "and she still wants to marry me, then
we'll both know we're doin' the right thing."
 
 Fraser smiled. "That sounds very wise, Ray."
 
 Ray smiled. "Yeah, well. I've had a lotta practice bein' a wise guy
lately."
 
 Fraser groaned.
 
 "Okay, okay, bad pun. I know," Ray grinned. "But it's gonna seem like
months 'till Serena gets here--I gotta amuse myself somehow. Oh, and while
we're on that subject, there is one thing you could do that'd help me
through it, Benny."
 
 "Anything," Fraser said.
 
 Ray grinned. "Wanna be my best man?"
 
 Fraser was so touched that for a second, he couldn't answer. Despite the
dreadful life Vecchio had led for a year, despite the scar on his cheek
and the hardness he sometimes saw on his face, deep down inside, he was
still the same old Ray he had once loved: generous and affectionate. It
was good to know that Ray still felt the same way about him, too. He
smiled. "I'd be honored."
 
 "Great!" Ray grinned, delighted. He was so excited that he reached across
the table and gripped Fraser's hand. "Thanks, Frase! I owe you one."
 
 Ben shook his head, and returned his handshake warmly. "It's my pleasure.
Thank you kindly for asking me."
 
 When they let go of each other's hands, Ray sobered again. "I know it
can't have been easy for you, comin' back from Canada and findin' me gone
like that…. I was a little worried that you might hold it against me." 
 
 Something inside Fraser said, *Ahh,* at that. Despite Ray's earlier
warmth, his confession that he'd missed him, and even his request to be
his best man, that dark question had still been burning inside of him. In
spite of everything. *Why did you leave me?* 
 
 He needed to know. Had to, if their friendship was to be totally
restored. He was glad that Vecchio had brought up the issue of his abrupt
departure himself--somehow, it made it easier for him to talk about it.
Still, he chose his words carefully. He still didn't know all the reasons
why Ray had left, and until he learned what they were, he didn't want to
judge him. Didn't want him to know how angry—how hurt—he'd been when he
left. "I was … upset when I learned that you were gone, of course. But not
entirely surprised. I had the feeling something was wrong when you called
me in the Yukon. I felt somehow that you were trying to say goodbye, but I
didn't know why."
 
 Ray grimaced. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that. I was hopin' they'd let me
leave after you got back, so I could say goodbye in person, but it didn't
turn out that way. And I'm sorry I couldn't tell you where I was goin'
over the phone, and why, but that wasn't possible either."
 
 Fraser nodded. "I suspected as much." 
 
 "They didn't even wanna let me call you at all, but I told 'em if they
didn't, I wouldn't go. So they finally gave in."
 
 Ben smiled. Part of his anger over Ray's leaving had to do with the fact
that its suddenness had made him wonder if he'd really regretted leaving
him behind. It had made him question, in his lonelier moments, whether Ray
had really loved him at all—even as a friend. He was infinitely relieved
to learn that Ray really hadn't abandoned him without a thought; that he'd
fought hard with the powers that be to tell him goodbye in the only way he
could.
 
 "Still, it made me feel like a jerk, leavin' ya without bein' able to say
where I was going, or why. You're my friend. Hell, you're my best friend.
So I hope you know that wasn't how I wanted it to be," Ray said earnestly.
 
 Ben nodded again. "I know," he said. And suddenly, he did. He saw the
deep regret in his friend's eyes, and the tension, pain and anger he'd
been carrying around inside him ever since his departure began to ebb
away. Now that he knew the truth, that Ray hadn't wanted to leave him that
way, had even worried that it might've destroyed their friendship
entirely, it went a long way towards repairing the deep wounds his abrupt
departure had carved into Fraser's heart. After all, Ray had had far more
serious things to worry about in the past twelve months than Ben's
feelings. Yet in the midst of treacherous, murderous men, with his own
life in grave danger, he'd worried about them all the same. That told
Fraser better than any words could have how important he really was to
him. *You can't ask more of a man—or a friend—than that,* he thought. 
 
 "It's all right, Ray," he said. And for him, at last, it was.
 
 Ray heaved a deep sigh of relief. "God, that's good to hear! I've been
worryin' about that for a year. Thought you might be so pissed off at me
for runnin' out on you that you'd never speak to me again."
 
 Now that the air was cleared between them, Fraser couldn't resist teasing
him a little. "Why on earth would you think that? The fact that you left
me stranded at that train station a year ago with Dief--and a very heavy
pack, I might add--didn't prevent me from inviting you out to breakfast
just now, did it, Ray?" he asked, with apparent innocence. 
 
 "No, but—"
 
 "And despite the fact that I only heard from you once during the entire
year that you were gone, I haven't heaped any abuse on your head for
neglecting me, have I?"
 
 Ray smiled, realizing he was being teased. "No, you haven't. But—"
 
 "In fact, as I recall," Fraser interrupted again, enjoying himself
hugely, "just now I agreed to be the best man at your wedding. Does that
seem to you like the act of a man who's nursing a grudge, or some secret
desire for revenge?"
 
 Ray shrugged. "That depends on what you say when you're toasting the
groom at my wedding!"
 
 They both burst out laughing at that. 
 
 When their chuckles died away, Ben decided to let Ray off the hook. "I
promise, I won't say anything negative at your wedding, Ray. My word of
honor."
 
 "Okay. So--you don't hate me for leavin' ya like that," Ray said. "You
really don't?"
 
 Fraser was a bit surprised. He thought he'd already made that clear. But
it was apparent, from Ray's intent look, that he wanted—maybe even
needed—to hear it again. So he repeated himself. 
 "No. I don't hate you, Ray. I never did." 
 
 Ray sat back with a satisfied smile. "Good. But come on, Benny. Tell me
the truth. You must've been mad at me, weren't ya? Just a little?"
 
 Ben felt himself flushing a little. But Ray had pointed out earlier that
he could read his mind, so he supposed he shouldn't object to the fact
that Vecchio could also read his. Even about things like that, feelings he
wasn't proud to acknowledge. "Well, yes," he said at last. "A little. I
was also a bit confused when I came back and found another man sitting at
your desk claiming to be you," he answered. "Especially when everyone else
was calling him Ray Vecchio, too. Even your own sister."
 
 "Ya mean Frannie didn't set you straight on what was goin' on?" Ray
asked, frowning. "I asked her to tell you, just in case Welsh didn't get
with you about it right away."
 
 Fraser shook his head. "She tried to, but she was…. Well, a bit hard to
understand. I believe her exact words were, 'I know what you know and what
everybody else knows, and all of that is known. Do you know what I mean?'"
 
 Ray held his head. "Oh, God. Some things never change," he groaned.
 
 Fraser smiled. "Well, to be fair to Francesca, she didn't have much time
to explain. Ray Kowalski was calling to me rather impatiently from the
car—"
 
 "Kowalski," Ray interrupted. "He's the new guy, right?"
 
 "Yes." *And my lover,* Fraser thought, warmed by the idea.
 
 "D'you like him? Did you two get along, or didja' drive him crazy too?"
Ray asked.
 
 Fraser knew he couldn't tell Vecchio just how close they really were, but
he opened his mouth to say Yes, I like him very much. That seemed safe
enough, as well as being the truth. But something stopped him. Ray was
smiling and his question seemed casual enough, but there was a certain
tension in the set of his shoulders, an intensity in his gaze, that didn't
jibe with that. He wondered if he was jealous. *No, that can't be,* he
told himself. *He's the one who left me, who went away, after all. And he
and Ray Kowalski haven't even met yet! Also, he has no idea that we're
lovers. It must be something else….*
 
 Nevertheless, he chose his words very carefully. Though his impulse was
to sing Kowalski's praises, his instincts warned him not to. Not when Ray
was so intensely interested in his answer, and didn't want him to know
why. So he decided to downplay his partner's abilities instead. "He's been
a good partner," he said. "He's very competent, if a little hot-headed at
times—"
 
 Ray's green eyes widened unexpectedly at that. "He's a hothead?
Kowalski's a hothead?" he asked, his tone more than a little unfriendly.
 
 Fraser blinked in surprise at his reaction. He didn't understand why that
would upset Ray. 
 
 "Has he been getting you in trouble while I was gone?" Vecchio demanded. 
 
 Suddenly, Fraser understood. Ray was merely being protective. "No.
Nothing like that," he said. Perversely, now that his description had
given Vecchio a dim view of Kowalski, he felt driven to defend him. "He
just tends to act on instinct, where I prefer to use logic. He tends to be
a bit impulsive, but he's also very brave," he said. "He has several
commendations for courage, and he's been very loyal." Still, despite his
accolades, Ray looked grim; and it made him nervous. "Kowalski
is—interesting," he stammered, not knowing precisely how to describe him
in order to make Vecchio like him, yet wanting to put in a good word for
his lover. "At least, I think so. And I'm not the only one. Francesca
finds him interesting, too," he babbled as Ray's narrow-eyed stare
increased his nervousness.
 
 Ray's eyes widened and grew heated again in an instant. "Frannie's
interested in him?" he choked. He flattened his palms on the table and
leaned forward. "You mean she's dating him? My *sister* is datin' a
hothead? You LET my sister date a guy you know is a hothead, while I was
away?"
 
 *Oh dear!* Fraser said to himself. In his belated attempt to praise
Kowalski, he'd inadvertently jumped out of the frying pan into the fire,
conversationally speaking. Ray had been away for so long that he'd half
forgotten his overly protective attitude towards his younger sister. The
moment he'd mentioned Francesca's interest in Ray Kowalski, he'd no doubt
leapt to the conclusion that Frannie and Kowalski were lovers! 
 
 "No, no! They aren't dating. I didn't mean Francesca was interested in
Ray *romantically*. I just meant that they've gotten along well in your
absence," he explained hastily. "That's all."
 
 Ray sat back in his chair. "Oh," he muttered, his green eyes losing their
dangerous intensity in an instant. "Well, if that's all it is, okay.
Forget I said anything." He looked down and casually speared another
forkful of eggs, as if the subject was already forgotten, as far as he was
concerned.
 
 Fraser heaved another private sigh of relief even as he watched his
friend with fascination. That was another thing he'd almost forgotten:
Ray's amazing volatility, the speed with which he could go from rage to
serenity and back again. It was like watching a car go from zero to sixty
in seconds. It was one of the things he'd always admired about him, his
ability to switch emotional gears more rapidly than he himself could ever
dream of doing. It was good to know that his year of undercover work
hadn't changed that. 
 
 In fact, it occurred to him that Ray's changeability might've served him
well on his assignment, allowing Vecchio to adapt to situations more
easily than he would have. *After all, my first attempt at undercover work
resulted in my being exposed within hours by hunters with relatively low
intelligence, and then clubbed repeatedly,* he thought with a smile,
*whereas Ray successfully survived a year in the heart of the upper
echelons of the Mafia without significant injury. He's definitely more
adept at subterfuge than I am!*
 
 But he forced his wandering mind back to the subject at hand, namely
Francesca's relationship with his partner. "Actually, Ray is more like a
brother to Francesca," he said truthfully, determined to make him see what
a good person he was. "Your mother likes him, too," he added, knowing how
much weight that would carry with Vecchio. "She's had him over for dinner
many times. And he's looked out for your family while you've been gone."
 
 Ray squinted at him through narrowed eyes. "Izzat so?"
 
 Fraser couldn't tell what that expression signified: suspicion, jealousy
or approval. "Yes," he nodded, trying to sound positive. "Ray has become
like a member of the family in your absence. But he and Francesca are just
good friends," he repeated.
 
 Ray eyed him for a moment longer, then finally lowered his gaze to his
plate again, apparently satisfied that he was telling the truth. "Okay. I
believe you, Benny. Can't wait to meet him."
 
 Fraser wasn't sure if that was meant in a positive sense or not. For
Kowalski's sake, he hoped so. But he decided to let the matter go at that,
before he said anything else that would upset his friend. And when Ray
went back to eating his eggs without further comment, he heaved a mental
sigh of relief at having successfully tiptoed his way through the
conversational minefield of Kowalski's relationship with his sister. He
made a mental note to tell Ray Kowalski never to make any jokes about
Francesca around her brother—or to mention what they'd done to his car,
either. 
 
 Ray Vecchio's devotion to his car was—well, if it had been anyone else,
Fraser would've said that it bordered on the insane. So the fact that he
and Ray Kowalski had once been forced to drive his beloved Buick Riviera
into Lake Michigan because it was on fire still caused him occasional
twinges of unease. Luckily, it had happened while Ray was away, but he'd
begun having bad dreams about the car all the same, the night that it
happened. He'd had several vivid ones, in fact, in which Vecchio returned
before he'd been able to have it repaired. Actually, he supposed it would
be more accurate to call them nightmares—because what had happened to him
at Ray's hands in each of them wasn't pretty. As a result, he'd had the
car pulled from the lake immediately, restored to perfect running
condition as quickly as possible, and parked outside the Vecchio house.
He'd noticed that Ray had driven it over to his apartment that morning
without comment, so it appeared that the extra money he'd paid to ensure
that the restoration job was thorough had been well spent. Ray had no idea
that his car had ever been damaged. And if he and Ray Kowalski were very
lucky, he never would. 
 
 *As long as no one happens to mention the regrettable incident to him,*
he thought, *Kowalski and I stand a good chance of living to a ripe old
age.*
 
 Crossing his fingers that would never happen, he relaxed and applied
himself to his own breakfast, and a contented quiet fell between them for
a few minutes. 
 
 But then Ray looked up at him and smiled, a familiar, wickedly amused
kind of smile that Fraser recognized instantly. That smile meant that Ray
had caught him behaving less than perfectly (or at least thought he had),
and was about to skewer him for it. Verbally speaking, of course. 
 
 *Oh dear,* he thought again, sitting up a little straighter in his chair.
*Did he find out about the car after all?*
 
 "Okay, Benny. Give. Who is she?"
 
 Fraser hesitated in the act of lifting a forkful of hashed browns to his
mouth. He was vastly relieved that Ray wasn't asking about his car, but
confused as to what he was referring. "She who, Ray?"
 
 Ray just kept smiling. "Aww, come on! Don't gimme that innocent look! I
just spilled my guts to you about Serena. The least you can do is return
the favor and tell me your girlfriend's name. At least, I assume she's a
girlfriend, 'cuz I don't see a ring," he teased, looking at Ben's hand.
 
 Fraser put his fork down with a puzzled frown. Where had Ray gotten the
idea that he was involved with a woman? "I really don't know what you
mean."
 
 Ray rolled his eyes. "Please! I know you're shy and all that, but we're
best friends, right? You can tell me."
 
 Ben frowned a little. "Tell you what?"
 
 Ray sighed a familiar, put-upon sigh that Ben had heard a thousand times
before. "Look," he said. "I got to your apartment at eight o'clock last
night, and you weren't there. At first I thought okay, maybe he's workin'
late or he went out to get a bite to eat or somethin'. But you never came
home—not even to feed Dief--at least not until seven thirty this morning.
And when you did, you were still wearin' your uniform, and you had this
big, doofy grin on your face. Now, you know that's not exactly normal
behavior for you, Benny. And we both know what all that adds up to: a
woman."
 
 Fraser lowered his eyes. Ray was absolutely right; last night had been
highly unusual for him. But he hadn't even realized that Vecchio had been
at his apartment that long, or that he'd been smiling like that when he'd
walked in, either. But an observer who knew him as well as Ray did would
have to draw the obvious conclusion from his uncharacteristic behavior,
and the break in his routine. It seemed that he'd unwittingly given
himself away already. He tensed, and felt himself blushing helplessly. 
 
 "Don't look so surprised, Benny! It didn't take a genius to figure that
one out," Ray teased, grinning at his embarrassment.
 
 Ben didn't know what to say. Ray was right about what he'd been doing,
but completely wrong about who he'd been doing it with. He knew he should
correct his mistaken impression, but he also knew that if he did, he ran
the risk of ruining their friendship. "It … isn't what you think, Ray," he
muttered, skirting the truth as he tried to figure out what to do about
this unexpected dilemma. His heart was beating fast, and his face flushed
even redder.
 
 Ray just laughed. "Oh yeah? Come on, Benny! Even if I hadn't seen you
come home this morning, I still would've guessed. You've practically got
"I scored last night" written all over you!"
 
 "What do you mean?" he blurted.
 
 Ray leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Benny … I wasn't gonna mention
this 'cuz I didn't wanna embarrass you, but your lips are a bit swollen.
And unless I'm sadly mistaken or goin' blind, which I don't think I am,
there's a huge hickey showin' above the edge o' your collar there. And
that usually means that a guy's got a woman in his life. So who is she?"
 
 Fraser couldn't answer. He stared at Ray, stricken with fear and
embarrassment. He raised a hand to his mouth automatically, to see if what
Ray had said about his lips was true, then dropped it in guilty haste when
he realized the gesture would only serve to incriminate him even further.
*Swollen lips—a hickey! Dear God! I didn't realize my collar doesn't cover
Ray's love bite! I never thought to look at myself in a mirror before I
left his apartment….* 
 
 His mind reeled. He remembered how intensely Ray had made love to him the
night before, how he'd encouraged him to do it, how he'd wanted to be
marked by his passion. He couldn't regret that passion, but he very much
regretted that someone else had noticed the signs of it. He'd never meant
for that to happen. He'd just never dreamed that he'd be eating breakfast
the very next morning with a sharp-eyed Italian cop who knew him better
than anyone. 
 
 *What can I tell him?* he wondered helplessly. *How can I tell him? I
can't! Ray will never understand this, he'll hate Kowalski before he ever
even meets him!* Remembering his odd premonition that he'd be forced to
choose between his best friend and his new lover, he shivered inwardly. 
 
 Ray noticed his discomfort, and his smile suddenly vanished, replaced by
a look of dismay. "God, it's not Victoria, is it?" he blurted. "Did she
come back while I was gone?"
 
 Ben smiled ruefully. Ray had been living in extreme danger for the past
year, had been forced to deal with killers on a daily basis, yet the mere
thought of Victoria still turned him pale. A fact which didn't reflect
very well on his taste in women. "No, no. It's nothing like that, Ray," he
reassured him, while casting about mentally for a way to explain the
visible traces of lovemaking on his body without either mentioning Ray
Kowalski or lying. It wasn't an easy task, but he had no choice. Close as
they were, he knew he couldn't tell Vecchio the truth. It might destroy
their friendship, and he couldn't bear that, having just regained it after
their long separation. And his concerns weren't merely personal. If
Vecchio found out about them, it would probably also destroy any hope that
his two Rays could ever develop a working relationship. And Fraser knew
they'd have to work together for at least a little while, while Vecchio
took over his former job from Kowalski.
 
 That realization gave him a pang, too. He wondered how Kowalski was going
to take having to give up his position to Ray Vecchio. Not well, he
suspected. *I'll have to help him through it,* he thought. Then he forced
his mind back to his own immediate problem of how to explain things to
Vecchio.
 
 "It happened … very suddenly," he confessed at last, blushing as he
remembered Ray's ardor the night before. "We've … been friends for a long
time, but we just—I never expected—" He faltered, unable to find the right
words to explain how romance had suddenly happened for him and his
partner.
 
 Ray grinned. "She just kinda fell into your arms all of a sudden, huh?
Kinda' outta the blue?"
 
 Fraser smiled, recalling how Ray had embraced him in his car that night.
"It would be more accurate to say that I was the one who fell."
 
 "Well, whatever. I'm happy for ya, Benny. It's about time," Ray said. "So
tell me all about her! Is she someone you met at work?"
 
 "Yes."
 
 "Details! What's she look like? Short? Tall? Brunette, blonde, what?"
 
 "Tall," Fraser said truthfully. "Blonde."
 
 "What's her name? And when do I get to meet her?"
 
 Fraser squirmed a bit in his seat, increasingly uncomfortable with this
deception. Ray's obvious delight in his new romance made him feel like a
heel, and he choked up. "I—umm …"
 
 Ray frowned a little. "Yer not kiddin' me about the blonde stuff, are ya?
It's not the Dragon Lady, is it?"
 
 Fraser smiled in spite of himself, at the apprehension in Ray's voice.
"No, it isn't. Inspector Thatcher and I are not romantically involved."
 
 "Thank God," Ray breathed, not bothering to hide his relief.
 
 "But Ray—" Fraser hesitated. "I'd really rather not tell you my …
friend's name just yet."
 
 Ray frowned unhappily. "Why not?"
 
 "Well, as I said, this all happened suddenly, and…. Well, things are a
bit complicated," he said nervously, feeling incredibly awkward.
 
 "Oh." Ray looked away as if trying to hide his disappointment. 
 
 Fraser remembered how hurt he'd been when he hadn't introduced him
promptly to Victoria long ago. He didn't want to hurt him like that again.
"It's just that I don't know if things are going to work out between us,
and if they don't, and you meet one day, I wouldn't want you to … be
prejudiced on my account," he explained, carefully avoiding the use of any
telltale pronouns.
 
 Ray nodded. "Oh. Okay. I understand," he said. But he still looked a bit
disappointed.
 
 Fraser didn't blame him, but he didn't dare try to explain further
either. He was afraid to say anything more in case he betrayed himself, or
Ray Kowalski.
 
 "Just tell me one thing," Ray said, his green eyes lifting and focusing
intently on Ben. "This friend o' yours, is she a good person?"
 
 Fraser was touched. He knew Ray was remembering Victoria too, and that he
was worried about him. He wished he could tell him the truth, tell him all
about Ray Kowalski, about all of the things Ray had done for him and for
others. The three citations Ray had received for saving innocent people in
the course of his police work came immediately to mind, as well as times
when he'd personally seen Ray's courage displayed. The pitched gun battle
in the woods near the Police Academy for instance, when they'd been
protecting Bruce Spender from his brother. And Ray's pursuit of Johnny
"the Worm" Maggot later on, during the Bennett case. Despite the fact that
Maggot had been heavily armed with a gun and a knife, while Ray was only
carrying a gun, he'd chased him into a narrow alley without hesitation.
And when he'd followed to assist, thinking of his safety rather than his
own, Ray had tried to dissuade him, yelling, "Fraser, don't! He'll cap
you!"
 
 And Ray's protectiveness was not confined merely to him, or to civilians
endangered by criminals. Fraser had noticed that Ray was very protective
of everyone he cared for. He'd even stepped in to protect his ex-wife
Stella one day when she was accosted by a client's angry husband, a thing
which Fraser supposed not many ex-husbands would have done. And he was
capable of amazing tenderness, too. Fraser would never forget that moment
in his car recently when Ray had held him tightly in his arms as he cried,
and whispered, "Tell me what you need, and I'll get it. I swear." Or the
way Ray had made love to him with mingled passion and gentleness last
night….
 
 "Yes," he said at last, his voice thick with emotion. "My friend is a
very good person. Wonderful, in fact."
 
 "No criminal record?" Ray persisted.
 
 Fraser smiled again. "No, Ray. None at all."
 
 "Okay. Good." Ray nodded with a satisfied smile. "That's all I need to
know, for now. But Benny--as soon as you make up your mind it's for real,
I get to meet her first, before anybody else. Deal?"
 
 Fraser nodded. "Okay, Ray." He was relieved to have been let off the hook
so easily. But he couldn't imagine how it would ever be possible to
introduce Ray Kowalski to Vecchio as his lover; and it pained him to have
given Ray the false impression that he was actually in love with a woman.
He told himself uneasily that he had never actually said so, that Ray had
come up with the idea on his own…. But his conscience argued, *Yes, but
you could have corrected him, and you didn't. And that's as bad as lying.*
 
 He frowned to himself. It was an ethical dilemma: was permitting someone
else to labor under a false impression the moral equivalent of a lie?
 
 Oblivious to his discomfort, Ray hefted a forkful of scrambled eggs and
grinned at him. "Oh, and Benny.… If I were you, next time you're on a
date, I'd tell Blondie to chew on parts o' you that are covered by the
uniform."
 
 "Ray!" Fraser protested, blushing to the roots of his hair as the comment
triggered vivid memories of the moment when he'd acquired the bruise in
question. He could almost feel Ray's wiry body pressing him hard against
the wall, Ray's hot, panting breath on his skin, Ray's hot mouth sucking
at that sensitive spot on his neck. A wave of heat swept over him, and his
pants suddenly felt far too tight. He shifted in his chair, and glanced
around nervously to see if anyone had heard his friend's scandalous
comment on his love life, or noticed his embarrassment, or (worse still)
his involuntary arousal. But to his immense relief, no one was looking in
their direction.
 
 "What?" Ray teased, his eyes sparkling wickedly. "I'm only thinkin' o'
you, Fraser. Wouldn't want the Dragon Lady to catch you with a hickey like
that! She'd probably have you standin' guard duty for a month."
 
 "Ray, please!" Fraser muttered.
 
 "Okay, okay," Ray laughed. "I'll quit teasin' ya. I know how you are
about that stuff."
 
 "Thank you," Fraser said gratefully. 
 
 Suddenly, both men were struck at the same instant by how familiar this
was. How wonderful it felt to be sitting together teasing each other, as
they had so often in years gone by. They broke into spontaneous smiles.
"Just like old times, eh, Ray?" Ben asked softly.
 
 Ray nodded happily. "Yeah. Like old times, Benny."
 
 Their eyes held for a moment, with perfect understanding. *Ray does know
me,* Fraser thought. *He knows me so well….* For a moment he felt only
affection and happiness. But then his uneasiness returned. *But he doesn't
know about this. Doesn't know that I'm sometimes attracted to men, and
that I'm completely, head-over-heels in love with a man at this very
moment, with my own partner. He knows everything,* he thought painfully,
*except the truth.*
 
 So even as they smiled at each other, and part of Fraser's heart rejoiced
that his best friend had returned home safely, that a missing piece of his
life was now back in place, another part of him was ashamed.
 
 And as Ray Vecchio smiled into Ben's innocent blue eyes, he thought, *I
shoulda' told him. But how can I?*
 

**************************************************************************
*********
 
 The following Monday morning, Ray walked through the door of the 27th
with the worst hangover he'd had in years. He'd spent most of the weekend
drinking in several different bars and wandering aimlessly through the
streets, hating Fraser and Ray Vecchio. At some point on Saturday, Fraser
had come back to his apartment and returned the GTO. Slipped the key under
his door. Ray had stumbled on it when he'd come home at about 2:30 a.m.
Sunday morning. But even that hadn't made a dent in his jealousy and
depression. He didn't want the damn car back as much as he wanted Fraser. 
 
 He even dreamt about him that night. He was with Vecchio, and they were
both laughing at him.
 
 Ray didn't sleep for very long. When he woke Sunday morning, he'd sobered
a little—but he couldn't stop thinking about it. About Ben being with
Vecchio. Holding him. Kissing him.… Fucking him. It was so depressing that
he had a bottle of vodka in his hand before he even got his clothes on.
And every time he imagined Fraser in bed with Vecchio, he'd take another
drink. And so it went. When he finished the vodka, he drove to another bar
and downed a few more shots. Then a few more…. He didn't go back to his
apartment until after midnight, and by then he was so hammered he'd barely
made it to his bed before passing out. Lucky he'd had his alarm clock set
to wake him automatically, or he never would've made it into work on time.
 
 But the fact that he had didn't make him happy. He was paying, big time,
for his little weekend wallow in booze and self pity. He felt like crap.
Crap that someone had jumped Bogart all over. His head was pounding, his
eyes hurt, and his mouth felt like a couple hundred soldiers with muddy
boots had been tramping through it all night.
 
 And the first thing he saw when he entered the squadroom was Fraser's red
coat. *Bright as a friggin' Christmas ornament, and twice as cheery.* The
Mountie was sitting by his desk like he'd been waiting for him. He groaned
to himself. *Shit! The whole universe is against me.*
 
 He tried to get away. Turned to head for the lunch room to get some
coffee, hoping Fraser hadn't seen him. But it was no use.
 
 "Ray!" Fraser waved to him, looking relieved. 
 
 Ray closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and headed for his desk. He felt
anything but relieved. He had a bad feeling about this. Very bad. He was
in no kind of shape for a confrontation with anyone right now, let alone
Fraser. Still, there was no point putting it off any longer. He'd ducked
him all weekend, but that couldn't go on forever. *Forget the coffee.
Might as well get it over with,* he told himself, his heart in his boots.
He shuffled slowly over to his desk.
 
 "Good morning, Ray," Fraser said as he sat down. 
 
 It made him grit his teeth. After everything he'd done, his politeness
seemed phony. Ridiculous. *Hypocrite! How can he act so friggin' polite,
when he was screwin' his brains out with both me and Vecchio this
weekend?*
 
 When he didn't answer, the Mountie frowned at him. "Is something wrong?"
 
 Fraser's apparent innocence made him furious. He used to buy that act,
but now he knew better. Ray set his jaw. Looked him right in the eye. "You
know damn well there is," he said in a low voice.
 
 Fraser blinked in what looked like genuine surprise. "Well, I was
somewhat worried when I came back to your apartment on Saturday morning
and found you gone," he said nervously. "I'm sorry I was late, but I tried
to call you numerous times, and got no answer."
 
 Ray knew at least that much was true. Fraser had left at least a dozen
messages on his answering machine over the weekend, starting on Saturday
morning. But after he'd seen him with Vecchio, he couldn't stand to listen
to any more of his lies. So he'd erased them all without listening to a
single one. 
 
 "I was busy," Ray shot back instead, his temper rising. That was also
true--in a way. *I was busy tryin' to drink myself under a table so I
could forget what you did to me! But it didn't work. And now yer makin' it
sound like I was the one who did something wrong!* For a second, he
considered letting him have it—verbally, at least. Telling him that he
knew what was going on, that he'd seen him with Vecchio Saturday morning,
that he knew they were lovers. Asking him what the fuck he thought he was
doing, playing with him like that. But then he changed his mind. *Why
should I? He isn't being honest with me, so why should I spill my guts?*
 
 Fraser's blue eyes searched his. Ray stared back, silently daring him to
tell the truth. Ben cleared his throat, unable to hide his growing
uneasiness. "Yes. Well, I came back again on Sunday morning to check on
you, and—"
 
 Ray ran a hand through his hair. "I was out," he said shortly. *Yeah--out
walkin' the streets, hammered half outta my skull, wonderin' why I ever
let you get so deep into my heart that now I can't get you out! Not even
after what you did….*
 
 Fraser looked down at his feet. "Yes. I gathered that," he said, his
voice a bit hoarse. His blue eyes lifted again, searched Ray's with a
worried look. "Where were you, Ray?"
 
 *Oh, man! That is it! That is friggin' it!* Ray thought, outraged. *Ya
jump out of bed with me, lie to me and go running off to fuck yer old
boyfriend Vecchio, then you've got the balls to ask me where I was?* He
stifled an urge to curl his fingers into a fist and sock Fraser right on
his perfect, square jaw. "What the hell do you care?" he sneered, furious.
 
 Fraser flinched, his blue eyes filling with a shocked kind of pain Ray
hadn't expected. "I—I—well, I mean of course I care, Ray," he stuttered at
last. "You're my … partner, and my friend."
 
 *How can he say that? He can he even say that, after what he did?* Ray
got to his feet, leaned closer to the Mountie and pitched his voice low,
so no one else could hear what he said next. "Fraser, I do NOT wanna talk
about this!" he hissed. "This isn't the place, or the time. You and
me--let's just say we made a mistake. It'll never work. It's over. End of
story. I mean … we can still work together if ya want, but that's all.
Nothin' else. You got that?"
 
 Ray figured he was being pretty generous, all things considered. He was
offering Fraser a chance, a way to end this peaceably. It was the one
conclusion he'd come to, during all his drunken wanderings that weekend:
his sexual relationship with Fraser was over. He wasn't sharing him with
Vecchio or anyone else. Especially not after Ben had lied to him, after
he'd gone to Vecchio behind his back.… But despite his anger, he wasn't
going to throw a fit about it, or even ask for a new partner. He had just
enough pride left to want to avoid a scene—and he didn't want to lose
Fraser entirely, either. Even now. 
 
 But they couldn't be lovers anymore. Not ever. He drew the line at that. 
 
 But even as he said it, he knew Fraser would never accept that. He had to
poke and pry and analyze everything--and their relationship, short as it
had been, was no exception. He'd never let it go without talking it to
death first. 
 
 "No, Ray. This is important," Fraser said stubbornly, right on cue. "We
have to talk about it!"
 
 Ray had already done more talking than he wanted to. And he was seething
with rising frustration because all that talking still wasn't getting his
message across. Because Fraser wouldn't listen. Because he never
listened—especially when you said something he didn't want to hear. He'd
talk your head off any day, but he didn't *listen*. 
 
 "No! Now ya see, that's where you're wrong," he gritted, his anger
growing. "We don't have to talk. And I don't have anything else to say. So
here--I'll show ya how it works." He turned his back, opened one of the
drawers in his filing cabinet, and pretended to dig for a file. "See? This
is me, not talkin' to you. Get the hint?"
 
 He heard a sigh behind him. "Ray, you're being childish—"
 
 Was that a faint trace of frustration he heard in Fraser's voice? It
cranked his inner burn up even hotter. *I'll show you childish!* He
slammed the file drawer shut suddenly, so hard it rattled the cabinet.
Whirled and pointed a shaking finger at Fraser. "Do NOT tell me how I'm
being! You don't know shit about it! In fact, yer so clueless it's
pathetic! So just shut the hell up!" He suddenly realized he was yelling,
and that everyone in their vicinity had stopped what they were doing to
stare at them. *Well, screw 'em! It's not like I never yelled at Fraser
before. Do it all the time,* he thought defiantly. 
 
 But not like this. This was different. This was for real. He was furious,
madder than he'd ever been at Fraser--and it showed. His chest was
heaving, and he felt his face turning a dark, ugly red. Felt a vein
throbbing in his temple. Felt the urge to ball his pointing finger into a
fist and—
 
 But he held it in with an effort. He wasn't going to do that, wasn't
going to get physical with him. He'd promised himself he wouldn't. No
matter what. He'd lost his temper before with other cops, had lashed out
with his fists after Stella left him, and it wasn't something he was proud
of. He was going to keep his hands to himself from now on. Do the right
thing. 
 
 Still, his yelling had got everyone's attention. Worse, he had the
distinct feeling everyone around them was taking Fraser's side. Just
because the Mountie always acted like the perfect gentleman, they probably
all assumed that Ray was in the wrong, that he was acting like a bastard
for no reason. They didn't know, any more than he had known, how much
deceit Fraser was capable of. He had everybody fooled. But Ray couldn't
clue them in on it, either. Not unless he wanted everyone in the room to
know that they'd slept together. So despite the way his head was
throbbing, he shut up, lowered his finger, sank down in his chair again
and tried to get hold of himself.
 
 Fraser's face fell at his tirade, but he set his jaw in a familiar,
stubborn way that Ray knew meant trouble. He wasn't going to let this go,
wasn't going to shut up as he'd asked. He was going to keep poking and
prying and asking stupid questions until Ray exploded. Kowalski bit his
lip, determined not to let it happen.
 
 "I confess, I am 'clueless', as you say, Ray. I don't have the faintest
idea what you're talking about."
 
 He leaned over his desk, leaned close to Fraser so he could keep his
reply from all the eagerly listening ears around them. "Do not say that
again! I don't wanna hear that from you!" he hissed. "We both know what
happened—"
 
 "No, we don't!" Fraser insisted. "As I said, *I* don't know what
happened. At least, not what you think happened. Not what you're so upset
about--"
 
 "Fraser!" he growled. The Mountie was definitely nervous, because he was
babbling. Ray remembered how he used to think that was cute. Now it just
rubbed him raw, like the scrape of fingernails on a blackboard. And the
fact that he was lying on top of all that added to his fury. Despite his
resolution to behave, he wanted to hit Fraser to make him shut up. He
really did. He straightened up again and counted to ten instead. "I'll
give you five seconds," he said grimly. "After that, you either agree to
let this go, or get outta here!"
 
 "Ray, I can't just let it go!" Fraser protested. "What I'm trying to say
is, you're right, I don't know how you feel. How can I, when you won't
talk to me?"
 
 Ray glared at him. "What's the point of spelling it out, when we both
know what you did?"
 
 "Are you upset that I didn't—I mean, that I came back late on Saturday?"
Fraser corrected himself, lowering his voice too, in tacit recognition of
their audience. "If that's what this is about, I don't understand. I
already apologized for that. I left several messages on your machine,
explaining everything. Why are you still angry?"
 
 Ray shook his head bitterly. *Oh, so you 'explained everything', did you?
What the hell did you say? "Sorry, Ray. I have to go fuck my old partner.
I'll be back soon?"* He set his jaw, ground his teeth together until they
hurt, fighting back another urge to hit the Mountie. *Besides, you think
one little "I'm sorry" can make this all right? Nothin' can make this all
right. Nothin'! You lied to me—you screwed me over!*
 
 Right then, he made up his mind. If Fraser wouldn't accept his
compromise, his offer to end their sexual relationship quietly, if he
wasn't willing to just work with him without being his lover, the way they
used to, then they'd have to split up permanently. Completely. In bed and
out of it. Their partnership was over.
 
 *He can be Vecchio's partner instead,* he told himself. Though the idea
made him want to puke, he figured that would probably happen anyway,
whether he wanted it to or not. Now that Vecchio was back, Fraser would
have to choose which one of them he'd partner up with; and it seemed
obvious to him that he'd already chosen Vecchio. So it would be easier on
his pride to end their partnership himself, before Fraser did it for him.
*Rather be the dumper than the dumpee,* he thought bitterly. 
 
 And suddenly he just wanted to get it over with. Quit prolonging the
agony. It wasn't what he really wanted, of course. Not at all. He didn't
want to lose Fraser entirely—he loved him too much. He'd tried to make
peace with him, to hang onto some kind of relationship with him, but
Fraser wouldn't listen. *Okay then. If Vecchio's the one he really wants,
I'll give him Vecchio,* he thought darkly. *I'll walk away. But I'm gonna
have to get in his face about it, or Fraser will never get it, never shut
up.* 
 
 And he wasn't in the mood to drag this out any longer. It hurt too damn
much. 
 
 And so did his head. It hurt so bad he couldn't think of a polite way to
say it, couldn't summon the energy to figure out how to soften the blow.
So he gave up trying. He sank back down into his chair and just spit it
out. "Okay, okay! You wanted me to talk, fine. You wanna know how I feel,
Fraser? Okay, I'll tell ya. Here it is: as of right now, we're not
partners anymore. We're not even friends. I want you to stay away from me.
I don't wanna talk to you, I don't wanna see you—in fact, I don't wanna so
much as catch a glimpse of yer little red coat, ever again. Or I will pop
you one. That's how I feel! Izzat clear?"
 
 This time, there was no question that Fraser got it. He paled, and his
blue eyes filled with a shocked look, a look of despair. "You don't mean
that, Ray," he breathed. "You can't! Please—"
 
 His head throbbed even harder. *Jesus! He's incredible. I just told him
to piss off, and he's tryin' to tell me I didn't mean it!* "Yeah. I do,"
he grated. Looking him right in the eye again so there'd be no mistake, he
said coldly, "We're done, Fraser. Kaput. Finished. Finito Benito. I don't
wanna work with you anymore. I'm tellin' you to get out. And I mean it.
Every goddamn word. Get outta here. Get away from me!"
 
 He hated doing this, hated it. But he felt like he had no choice. Vecchio
was back, and by running off with him like he had, Fraser had made it
crystal clear that his loyalties lay with him. But Ray couldn't live with
that. It made his head hurt even more, just thinking about it. Fraser was
the best thing that had ever happened to him—and he'd lost him almost
before they even got started. Lost him to the guy who'd put a bullet hole
in his back. Who'd left him for nearly a whole goddamn year, without a
word! It made no sense, but then life seldom did. It didn't matter that he
couldn't understand it, that he would never understand it—he still knew it
was true. Fraser's past had risen up and kicked him in the butt, just like
he'd sensed it would. And he couldn't take it.
 
 Fraser looked stricken. "At least tell me why you're angry, Ray. Please!
Tell me what it is you think I've done!" he pleaded in a low voice. 
 
 But Ray forced himself not to respond. He didn't buy that innocent act
anymore. He couldn't afford to. "It's not what I THINK you did, it's what
you DID! You figure it out!" he said tersely. He was through being toyed
with. Still, some part of him hated being shitty to Fraser, even now. As
the look of shock in his eyes deepened, he wanted to reach out and touch
him, to take back what he'd said…. Wanted to hold onto him, even though
Ben had betrayed him.
 
 But self respect, what little he had left, prevented that. *It's his
fault,* he told himself, hardening his heart. *He's the one who stabbed me
in the back. He deserves it.*
 
 They sat frozen for a moment, staring at each other, both feeling like
they were poised on the edge of an abyss. Each secretly hoped the other
would say something to repair the rift between them, but neither knew how.
Ray felt it was Fraser's responsibility to explain, to come clean and
confess what he'd done with Vecchio; but Fraser had no idea that Ray had
even seen them together. He was so confused, so stricken by Ray's
unexpected anger, that he didn't know what to say. And so the moment was
lost.
 
 In the end, Ray had to leave. He couldn't stand it, couldn't bear the
hurt, bewildered look in Fraser's eyes any longer. It was cutting into
him, and he was bleeding heavily enough inside already. Worse yet, he
still wanted Fraser, more than he would've thought possible. Just being so
close to him tore him up inside. *It's over,* he told himself ruthlessly.
*Let it go!*
 
 He got to his feet and started to shoulder past him. But Fraser got up
too, reached out and caught his shoulder. "Ray, please!" he said again,
almost begging. "Why won't you tell me what I've done?"
 
 Ray shook his head, tried to pull away. "Cuz we're way past talkin',
Fraser. And you should know what you did. And I told you not to touch me,
remember?" he growled, glaring at him. "Now back off!"
 
 "Wait, Ray!" Fraser hung onto him, refusing to let go. Maybe it was
because he was desperate, or so upset that he temporarily forgot his own
strength, but for whatever reason, his fingers suddenly dug deeply into
Ray's shoulder. 
 
 That tiny added pain pushed Ray over the edge. He'd reached his limit, he
couldn't take anymore. He just had to make it stop, so he struck out
blindly. "Get yer hands off me!" he roared, shoving Fraser to make him let
go. But in his rage, he pushed too hard. So hard that Fraser was almost
knocked off his feet. He slammed into the side of Ray's filing cabinet,
his hat went flying, and the cabinet swayed dangerously. 
 
 *Shit!* Ray felt an instantaneous surge of guilt. He'd promised himself
he wasn't going to hit Fraser, and though that wasn't exactly a punch, it
wasn't much better. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw everyone around
them freeze. A couple of the nearby detectives were watching him with
narrowed eyes, with that cop intensity that told him they were a hair away
from intervening. So he froze too. He wanted to apologize, to grab Ben's
arm to steady him, but he knew that if he made another move towards him,
the cops watching would probably grab him thinking he meant to punch him.
And if that happened, he'd lose it entirely, and there'd be a brawl. So he
stood still, watching Fraser straighten up again with a kind of horrified
fascination. 
 
 Ben tugged at his tunic once, straightening it with a tiny, automatic
gesture that tugged at Ray's heart. He didn't say anything, not one word;
he just gave him a look. A look of wounded innocence, of total, stunned
disbelief that Ray could do such a thing. He didn't even really look
angry, he looked sick. As shattered as he'd felt himself the morning he'd
seen Ben walking down the street with Vecchio's arm flung possessively
over his shoulders.
 
 Ray didn't know how to take that. He'd expected Fraser to look guilty,
had been waiting for that, but he still looked so innocent that it made
him feel sick too. Sick, confused and helpless. Just two nights ago, he'd
realized that he loved Fraser so much that he would kill for him. It was
still true. So how had it come to this? 
 
 *Because he doesn't love me back,* he thought bleakly, and was ashamed to
feel tears stinging his eyes. *Oh shit,* he thought. *Shit, shit, shit!*
He couldn't break down now, in front of a roomful of cops. But he was a
hair away from it. So, to keep himself from bawling like a baby, he
exploded. "Keep yer fuckin' hands off me! Don't ever touch me again!" he
yelled. "Just stay the hell away from me!"
 
 It was so quiet in the squadroom, you could've heard a pin drop. Fraser's
face was ashen. He looked over Ray's shoulder and around the room, and Ray
knew he was registering the many pairs of fascinated eyes that were
watching them. But he didn't say a word. He just looked at Ray one last
time, his eyes begging for an answer.
 
 Ray didn't say a word. He was too choked up to speak. Too busy blinking
back his tears.
 
 Fraser's eyes filled with despair. He hung his head for a second, and
then, in the breathless hush, reached down silently to pick his hat up off
the floor near Ray's feet.
 
 Ray's fury, which had ebbed once he broke free of Fraser's hold, suddenly
returned, mixed with shame and pain so deep it took his breath away. He
wanted Fraser, needed him, loved him—yet he'd just hurt and humiliated him
in front of the whole 27th. He hated himself for it, but he hated Fraser
even more. *Why'd you make me do that? WHY? Why'd you make me love you,
then run back to Vecchio? Did you ever love me at all, even for one
second, or were you just fuckin' me over? Usin' me the whole time?*
 
 He didn't know. Chances were, he never would. 
 
 At the thought of that, the pressure inside him became intolerable again.
*I'm losin' him,* he thought desperately. *And I don't even know why!* As
Fraser bent his beautiful dark head to retrieve his hat, Ray felt like he
was about to go nuclear. His heart was thumping in his chest, blood
pounding in his ears. If he didn't do something, he'd explode. So he took
out his savage fury on the closest inanimate object. He took a step
forward and before Fraser could pick up his hat again, he kicked it. Hard,
so that it went sailing across the room and landed under Frannie's desk.
He heard several audible gasps, knew that one of them was Frannie's. But
he steeled himself not to care, not to look at any of them. 
 
 He just stood there for a second, breathing hard.
 
 No one spoke. Fraser set his jaw tightly, and Ray suddenly knew he was
trying to hold back tears too. Their gazes met and for a second, he saw
the same bottomless pain in Ben's blue eyes that he'd seen that night in
his car. The pain he'd once tried to ease. But now it was a fraction
deeper. Now, he was a part of it. 
 
 Now, it was a part of him. 
 
 He had to get out, get away from it somehow. Move, so he could breathe.
So he could see something other than the darkness he'd put back in
Fraser's beautiful eyes. So he charged towards Lt. Welsh's office, trying
to make it look like he was headed somewhere important—instead of running
away. Though he knew the Lt. hated it when anyone barged in without
knocking, he did it anyway, his face dark with anger he couldn't hide. He
was in no mood to be polite—not to anyone. But he did have an excuse for
intruding. *Gotta tell him that I finally got his message, that I know
Vecchio's back.* 
 
 "You told me to check in as soon as I got here—so here I am, Lieutenant!"
he said defiantly. 
 
 But as he stopped in front of Welsh's desk, he turned his head and saw
the Italian sitting in a chair just a foot away, and the rest of what he'd
meant to say died in his throat. Vecchio was still wearing the coat he'd
seen on him outside Fraser's apartment, over an obviously expensive black
suit. Ray wanted to growl like an animal. He felt a surge of pure,
unadulterated hatred, even deeper and more vicious than the pain he felt
at Fraser's betrayal. Because underneath that, he still loved him.
Vecchio, he didn't even know. Vecchio, he wanted to kill. But as good as
killing him right in front of Welsh would've felt, it would've also landed
him in a cell—and he was knee deep in sexual hijinks as it was, thanks to
the Italian and a certain Mountie. He didn't want things to get any worse.
So he settled for giving Vecchio a hard, unfriendly stare instead. 
 
 Vecchio raised an eyebrow and studied him coolly, unruffled by his abrupt
entrance, or his glare. *Of course, after dealing with Mafia hard guys for
the past year, probly nothin' would faze him,* Ray thought resentfully.
The Italian looked cool, calm, stylish and perfectly groomed. By contrast,
Ray knew his eyes were reddened from his hangover, his hair was mussed as
usual, and his jeans and grey t-shirt were wrinkled, and far from new.
Vecchio looked like he'd just stepped out of the pages of GQ, whereas he
probably looked like he'd just dragged himself up out of a gutter
somewhere. Ray hated Vecchio for that, too. Hated his Armani-clad guts. 
 
 *Shit!* he thought, rage and jealousy surging through him like a tidal
wave as he suddenly put another two and two together. *Vecchio's here,
so's Fraser—which means he probly gave Fraser a ride in. Hell, for all I
know, they mighta' spent the whole weekend together! Vecchio mighta fucked
him in the car on the way over here!*
 
 The thought of that turned his stomach. The thought of Ben's hands, his
beautiful hands, on this snobby looking Italian made him want to hurl. The
more he thought about him, the more reasons he found to hate him. He
glared at Vecchio. *There's no way I'm gonna work with him—no way. If
Welsh makes me try, I'll end up tearin' him apart with my bare hands. I
know it. * 
 
 As if on cue, Welsh said wryly, "Well. Detective Vecchio. Or should I say
Kowalski? I was just gonna ask you to come in, but as usual, you're way
ahead o' me. Have a seat. I'd like you to meet—"
 
 Ray stayed where he was, tore his eyes away from Vecchio and snarled, "I
know who he is." He couldn't bring himself to say his name, or shake hands
with him, or even look at him again. He turned forward and kept his eyes
focused on Lt. Welsh, his back to his namesake, and his hands to himself.
It was safer that way.
 
 Welsh sat back in his chair, no doubt surprised by his animosity, and
gave him one of his Looks. One of those looks that said, "You'd better
explain yourself, Detective. Fast."
 
 Ray knew those looks well. He also knew he'd better cough something up,
or Welsh would toss him out on his kiester. "I got the message you left,
Lieutenant," he snapped, unwilling to say anything more. 
 
 "Good," Welsh said, though his eyes still searched Ray's face for the
cause of his anger. 
 
 *Oh, yeah, I got it all right,* Ray thought bitterly. *Just a little too
late! Too late for it to make any difference. Too late to keep from losing
Fraser to Vecchio. God dammit!* he thought for the hundredth time, anguish
cutting through him. *If I'd only listened to that message sooner, when I
first brought Ben home—*
 
 But a fatalistic voice inside him said, *What difference would it have
made? Ben made his choice. It was his decision, not mine--and he picked
Vecchio.* He felt Vecchio's eyes on him, felt them boring curious holes in
his back, but he ignored him. 
 
 "Well," Vecchio said. "So this is my replacement. It's good to meet you
too—Stanley."
 
 Ray's shoulders tightened at the sarcasm in his voice. *God damn him,
that was some kinda' crack about my name! I oughtta pop him!* But he
forced himself not to respond, to keep his back turned to the Italian
because he suspected that he was smirking. Hell, he could *feel* him
smirking! And if he saw him do that, he'd go apeshit again, he just knew
it. 
 
 He felt his whole body going stiff with rage. It was incredibly hard to
control himself with Benny's lover sitting a few inches behind him, making
wisecracks. Giving off nasty vibes. *Weird—it's like he hates me. Not just
cuz I'm ignoring him, either.* He couldn't imagine why, since they'd never
even met before, but he wasn't going to give himself a headache trying to
figure it out, either. *If it's true, fine by me. Makes it easier to hate
him back.* Not that he was having any trouble with that anyway.
 
 He took a deep breath and set his jaw. *Maybe if I don't look at him
again,* he told himself, *I can keep from punchin' him before I leave.
Maybe.* So he faced stubbornly forward, instead of turning around and
throwing himself on Vecchio like he wanted to. But he took a second and
entertained himself with thoughts of cornering him in an alley some night
when he wasn't expecting it, and beating the crap out of him. That little
fantasy felt good—but it didn't exactly relax him any. He was so steamed
up, he decided that if the weasel said one more word to him, he'd act out
his little alleyway fantasy right here in Welsh's office—and screw the
consequences. 
 
 "Sit down, Detective," Lt. Welsh repeated. "I want you to brief Detective
Vecchio here on your caseload. As of tomorrow, he's officially back on
this squad—"
 
 Welsh kept talking, but Ray didn't hear another word he said. That was
it: the axe he'd been waiting for, the axe that would come down on his
skinny neck and separate him from what little he had left, in the wake of
Benny's betrayal. He'd known it was going to fall, had known it from the
moment he'd seen Vecchio outside Fraser's apartment. But it still hurt. It
wasn't bad enough that Vecchio had taken his lover, now he was going to
get his desk too. His job. His place at the 27th. His whole new life. 
 
 *Because it was never really mine to begin with…. Just like Benny was
never really mine.*
 
 It all belonged to Vecchio in the first place, and now he was taking it
back. And there was nothing he could do about any of it. *Nothin'--except
this.* Head pounding, sick at heart, he pulled out his badge and gun and
set them down on his boss's desk with a thump. 
 
 "What the hell is this, Detective? What's goin' on here?" Welsh asked
angrily. 
 
 Ray Vecchio didn't say anything. But Kowalski could still feel Vecchio
watching him, and all the staring, prying eyes of the other detectives on
his back, right through the glass of Welsh's office window. No doubt they
were all busy judging him. *Screw him,* he thought. *And them too! I'm
outta here.* 
 
 He took a deep breath. "This is me sayin' Adios, Lieutenant," he said.
"Been nice workin' with ya. But I quit."
 

**************************************************************************
********* 
 
 In the surprised hush left behind in the squadroom after Kowalski's
explosion, Frannie bent over and picked up Benton's hat. "Here, Frayzh."
She held it out to him, her heart in her eyes. She could see that he'd
been hurt by Ray's fit of rage, hurt badly. She didn't know what had gone
wrong between them, but she hoped against hope that whatever it was, he
would turn to her for help. For comfort. For something…
 
 But he didn't. He took his hat back without a word, and stared down at it
for a moment as if he couldn't remember what to do with it. Almost as if
he'd forgotten where he was, or who he was. He looked blinded, white with
shock and pain.
 
 Frannie had never seen him look like that before. Except—
 
 Then it hit her. He'd looked like that when she'd seen him in the
hospital after that mess with that bitch, Victoria Metcalf. Just like
that, like someone had reached down inside him and torn his heart out, and
he had no idea what to do about it. How to go on living. Only this time,
Victoria wasn't here. This time, Ray was the one who'd hurt him.
 
 Frannie saw it then, for the first time. The truth hit her like a bomb.
*Oh my God! He's in love with him. With Ray Kowalski! That's what that
fight was about.* Her whole body went cold with a shock almost as deep as
Fraser's. She tried to think of something to say to comfort him, but she
was so hurt herself that her mind had gone numb. The words just wouldn't
come. *But I love you,* was all she could think. *I've loved you for so
long, and I never knew. Why didn't you tell me?*
 
 After a long moment, Fraser finally looked up again. He tried to smile at
her, but failed. "Thank you, Francesca," he said. His voice was hoarse
with strain, yet he was polite as always. But in that instant, she almost
hated him for it. She knew he cared for her in his own way, but that was
all she would ever have of him: politeness. A brotherly kind of affection.
He didn't want to hold her, didn't want to make love to her, didn't feel
any passion for her—he wanted Ray, who didn't even want him. Her big,
beautiful Mountie was in love with another man. She turned away from him
so he wouldn't see the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. So she
wouldn't say something stupid, that would hurt him even more.
 
 Fraser walked away without another word. And she let him go.
 
 A few minutes later, Ray Kowalski went storming by on his way out. He'd
been in Lt. Welsh's office with her brother. She didn't know what they'd
said, but she'd heard raised voices, and knew they'd been arguing about
something. But she didn't much care about what he'd done to piss off the
Lieutenant just then. What mattered was figuring out how he felt about
Fraser. Because maybe Fraser's feelings for Ray were one-sided. Maybe that
was why Ray had gotten so upset. Maybe he'd just learned that Fraser
wanted him, but he didn't want Fraser back. So maybe she could still
comfort Fraser later. Maybe there was still a chance for her. 
 
 Frannie looked deep into Kowalski's eyes as he swung past her, hoping
against hope—but then she saw it.
 
 Kowalski had that same terrible look Fraser had. Like he'd been hurt so
bad the only thing that was keeping him on his feet was his stubborn
pride. *Oh God,* she thought. *He's in love with Benny too!* In a second,
all her hopes that Fraser might be suffering from a terminal case of
unrequited love vanished into thin air, just like her visions of one day
standing by the Mountie's side in a beautiful white wedding gown. Now she
knew that would never happen. Now she knew all her dreams for the past
three years had been just that—dreams. Despite their fight, Kowalski and
Fraser were in love with each other. 
 
 That was too much. She turned away and headed for the bathroom, where she
could break down and cry in peace.
 

**************************************************************************
*********
 
 Later that night, a couple of hours after he'd finally returned home
after wandering by the shores of Lake Michigan all day, Ray heard a knock
on his door. He went to answer it, then froze in the act of reaching for
the doorknob. "Who the hell is it?" he barked.
 
 Hoping it was Fraser. Hoping it wasn't.
 
 "Who the hell d'ya think, Kowalski?" a male voice barked back.
 
 He hung his head. It wasn't Fraser, it was Welsh. He wasn't sure that was
an improvement, but he grudgingly unlocked his door and opened it anyway.
The Lieutenant stood there, wearing a long overcoat and an unhappy
expression. 
 
 "I'm not changin' my mind," he said defensively, before Welsh could say a
word.
 
 Welsh just looked at him. "Ya hear me askin' you to?"
 
 Ray sighed and hung his head. "No."
 
 Welsh sighed too. A long, world weary sigh that spoke volumes. "Look, are
you gonna let me in or not, Detective?"
 
 Ray hesitated. "I'm not a detective anymore," he said stubbornly, not
wanting to let him in without making that clear.
 
 Welsh rolled his eyes and shouldered past him into his living room. "Oh
yes you are," he said, tossing something onto his coffee table. Two
somethings. One rattled, the other hit with a heavy thump.
 
 Ray didn't have to look to know that they were his shield and gun.
 
 "I didn't accept those," Welsh said.
 
 Ray shut his door with more force than was strictly necessary. "It's not
your decision, Lieutenant!" he snapped. "It's mine."
 
 Welsh turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "You didn't look like you were
in any shape to be making big decisions like that when you threw those on
my desk this morning," he said wryly. "And you don't look much better
now."
 
 Ray pursed his lips. He wasn't surprised that Welsh had noticed how hung
over he was earlier. He wasn't sitting behind that desk because he was
stupid or unobservant, after all. Still, it embarrassed him. "I'm sober,"
he said curtly. "And I ain't changin' my mind."
 
 Welsh shook his head, and sat down uninvited on his couch. "Yer actin'
like an idiot, Kowalski. You can't turn in your shield just because you
had a few drinks, and a spat with Big Red—"
 
 Pain and shame twisted in Ray's gut. He'd known that gossip would get
back to Welsh about that, but it was one thing to know it, and another
thing to hear it from his mouth. "Fraser's got nothin' to do with this!"
he lied vehemently. "Nothin'."
 
 Welsh fixed him with a skeptical look. "Uh huh. Then what does? Why'd you
quit, Kowalski? Not that I care, of course, but I have to have some reason
to list on your paperwork," he said sarcastically. "You know how it is. I
lose a detective, it looks bad. The brass wants to know why."
 
 Ray shrugged defiantly. He wasn't going to tell anyone else about what
had happened between him and Fraser, ever. "Tell 'em I'm burned out," he
said. "Tell 'em I got a job at McDonalds, that pays better! I don't care."
 
 Welsh shook his head. "It's Vecchio, isn't it," he said quietly. "You
hate him for comin' back and takin' your place, just when you were gettin'
comfortable with your job--and your partner."
 
 It was a statement, not a question, and it pissed Ray off. He hadn't
expected Welsh would see through him that easily. Plus, what had Welsh
meant by him "getting comfortable" with Fraser? He didn't dare ask. He was
afraid that after his nuclear meltdown at the station, Welsh had guessed
what was really going on between them, that they'd been more than just
partners—if only for one night. *One more thing to blame Vecchio for,* he
thought, seething. *Like that style pig hasn't done enough already! If he
hadn't come back, Welsh probably would never have figured it out. But now
he suspects. Hell, maybe he even knows!* 
 
 Still, no matter what Welsh knew or only suspected, he wasn't going to
confirm it. "No," he lied again. "I've just had it, like I toldja." 
 
 Welsh sighed again. "Ya don't have to do this, ya know," he said. "You're
a good cop. We can make room for you here, even with Vecchio back—"
 
 "No!" Ray exploded. He couldn't spend another day, or even another hour,
in the same room with that Wiseguy wanna-be who'd stolen Fraser away from
him. If he had to work with him day after day, if he had to see them
giving each other hot little looks, maybe even kissing, only two things
could happen. Either he'd end up behind bars for murdering a certain
Italian in front of an entire squadroom full of cops, or else he'd eat his
gun. Both scenarios sucked. Vecchio had taken everything else away from
him that mattered. He wasn't willing to give up his life for him too.
 
 "That's the way it is," he repeated, trying not to sound as sorry about
it as he felt. "That's how it has to be."
 
 Welsh lifted an eyebrow. "Well," he said wryly. "Since Vecchio and Fraser
obviously have nothin' to do with this, you wanna tell me what does?" 
 
 Ray caught himself. If he wasn't careful, he was going to give the whole
thing away. Maybe he already had. He finally sank down next to Welsh on
his couch, and ran his hands through his hair while he searched for
another way to explain himself. "I'm just finished there. Done," he added,
in a quieter voice. "If ya need a reason, say I'm burned out. I don't
care." He stared down at his hands.
 
 Welsh shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you should think twice about
quittin', anyway. There's lots of other districts you could transfer to."
 
 "I guess," Ray muttered. He'd been thinking about that himself today,
while he wandered by the lake. He'd already begun to regret throwing his
shield away so impulsively. Despite what had happened with Fraser, he
wasn't sure he was ready to throw away his whole career yet. He couldn't
go back to the 27th, not with him and Vecchio there, but like Welsh said,
there were plenty of other Districts in Chicago. He might be able to go
back to working Narcotics somewhere, or maybe Homicide…. Work was all that
had saved him after his breakup with Stella. That and dancing. If he
transferred, at least he'd have something to do, something he knew how to
do, while he tried to figure out how to pick up the pieces after his
latest romantic disaster. 
 
 His badge and gun lay on the coffee table just inches away from him. He
eyed them moodily. He wanted to pick them up again, but that would be like
admitting that he'd been wrong to throw them away in the first place. And
he didn't want to lose face in Welsh's eyes, any more than he already had.
So he just looked at them, but made no move to pick them up. 
 
 A long, awkward silence fell between them. "Well, I've gotta go," Welsh
said at last. He got to his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets and
stared down at Ray. "You think about it, Detective," he said quietly.
"You're a good cop, you shouldn't throw that all away because of …
whatever. I know Vecchio comin' back so sudden was kind of a shock, and
I'm sorry I didn't get with you about it beforehand."
 
 Ray saw a hint of guilt in his eyes, and he smiled ruefully. "'S'okay,
Lieutenant," he said, letting him off the hook. "It wouldn't have changed
anything."
 
 Welsh studied him for a minute. "Maybe not. But I'll leave your badge
here tonight, anyway. If you haven't changed your mind by tomorrow
morning, then come back and turn it in for good. But if you have, then
we'll talk about other possibilities." He turned and headed for the door. 
 
 Ray was too preoccupied by suspicion to answer. He stared at Welsh's back
with a frown, suddenly wondering what he'd meant when he'd said he
shouldn't throw his job away because of "whatever". It was the second hint
he'd given that he knew he and Ben were lovers. *Either I'm paranoid, or
he knows I slept with Fraser,* he thought for the second time. *But how
could he know? What, have I got a sign taped to my back saying "I had sex
with the Mountie" or somethin'?*
 
 But as Welsh opened his door, the meaning of his last statement finally
got through to him. Welsh had offered him a second chance, a chance to
transfer out instead of quitting. He'd done him a favor by not accepting
his impulsive resignation, and then stuck his neck out even further by
coming here to try and talk him back onto the force. He didn't have to do
either of those things, and a lot of district heads wouldn't have. But
Welsh was a good commander who really cared about his men. Ray suddenly
realized that he'd acted like a jerk to him. He'd been rude and surly,
when he should've thanked him.
 
 He jumped to his feet and caught Welsh at his door. "Thanks, Lieutenant,"
he said. "I'll think about it. I promise." He stuck out his hand, wanting
him to know there were no hard feelings. 
 
 Welsh gripped it with a slight smile. "Good, Detective. That's good." 
 
 As he headed out, he turned around one last time. "You know, Ray
Vecchio's a good cop too," he said. "So is Big Red. You could do a lot
worse for partners. You might give that some thought, while you're
deciding what to do with your shield."
 
 Ray looked down at his boots, embarrassed.
 
 Welsh turned and walked away. "Kickin' his hat like that—ouch," he said
as he moved off down the hall. "Ya know how he is about that hat…."
 
 Then he rounded the corner of the hallway and was gone.
 
 *Jeez, he even heard about the hat!* Ray winced as he shut his door.
*Probly everyone at the station has by now—and they probly all side with
Fraser.* 
 
 But then it hit him: not everyone did. Welsh had come here tonight on his
behalf, after all. Ray smiled ruefully to himself. One way or another, he
was leaving the 27th for good. He'd already made up his mind about that.
But now he knew there'd be at least one person there who didn't hate him.
 
 Then he remembered Frannie's gasp of horror when he kicked Fraser's
Stetson, and the hard look she'd given him when he stormed out later, and
he groaned to himself. *Maybe I should wear my vest when I go in to talk
to Welsh tomorrow. Just in case Frannie's around…*
 
 

**************************************************************************
*********
 
 When Ray Vecchio learned, shortly thereafter, that Ray Kowalski had
decided to transfer to another district instead of quitting, he felt
vaguely disappointed. Glad that Fraser's fill-in partner was going away,
but disappointed that he hadn't left the department entirely. At least
then, he'd have known he'd never have to see the punk again. As it was,
there was still a chance they'd run into each other on the job, and that
sucked. But he kept it to himself. He'd never told Fraser why he disliked
him. He'd never told anybody, because they wouldn't understand. Fraser and
Frannie both liked the jerk. Hell, even Ma had liked him! She'd sung his
praises to the skies, told him that he was 'a good boy' who'd 'watched
over them' while he was away. Like that was supposed to make him grateful
or something.
 
 It didn't. If he never saw Stanley Raymond Kowalski again, it would be
too soon.
 
 Ray Vecchio knew that his hateful, knee-jerk reaction to Fraser's skinny
partner was unfair. But Armando Langostini had hated him on sight. Ray was
doing his best to forget Armando now, to bury him and everything he stood
for way down in the deepest, darkest hole he could dig inside of him; but
Kowalski had brought him back without even trying.
 
 Like the reptile he was, Armando had slithered to the surface again the
first time he'd laid eyes on Kowalski. Ray had heard someone yelling out
in the squadroom that morning, and when the other Ray blew into Lt.
Welsh's office soon after like an angry tornado, it hadn't taken a genius
to figure out that he was the one who'd just lost it. He'd felt a mixture
of emotions at his first glimpse of his replacement: envy, amusement at
the way he was ticked off, and curiosity. Why was he so pissed? What was
he like? But overlaying all that was jealousy. This guy had taken his
place for a year, lolled around in his comparatively cushy life, while
he'd been busting his balls trying to survive inside the Family. He'd
taken his place with Benny--at his side, if not in his heart. Hell, he'd
even taken his place with his real family while he was gone.
 
 Ray wasn't sure he liked that much. So he'd said hello by calling him
"Stanley", making a guess that Kowalski probably hated that geeky name.
Then, rewarded by the gratifying way the blonde detective's shoulders
tightened at his little jab, he'd settled back and studied the back of his
head with more than ordinary interest as he stood in front of him snapping
at Welsh. 
 
 That turned out to be a mistake. Because the next thing he noticed was
his hair. It was dark blonde, moussed so that it stuck straight up on top
in defiant spikes. and cropped so short in the back that it was almost
shaved. The shaved part made him look boyish, like a kid whose barber had
taken off way too much. It bared his neck, and made him look
unprotected—vulnerable. 
 
 And with that thought, he'd flashed on the past. Armando rose up inside
him and thought resentfully, *He looks just like Maxwell.*
 
 *No he doesn't,* he'd argued back. He'd shifted in his chair, trying to
make him go away, but he was suddenly there, too strong to ignore. 
 
 *Remember?* Langostini persisted ruthlessly. *Remember how Jimmy's head
used to look just like that, right after he got a haircut? I used to study
the prick when he wasn't looking, and think about blowing a hole in it.
Remember? Especially after Maxwell found out about Serena. After he—*
 
 Ray had pushed him away hard then. He didn't want to remember that. Had
vowed he wasn't going to think about it anymore. So he'd shut off
Langostini's oily, hateful voice in his head in the only way he could--by
shifting the hatred he'd made him remember onto Kowalski. The contempt.
*Jesus, what were they thinking, replacing me with him? He's all raw bones
and skinny ass. Plus, he dresses like a bag lady. Whaddid he do, sleep in
those clothes all weekend?*
 
 That made him feel a little better. Looking down on Kowalski made him
feel more in control; and that gave him the power to banish Armando again.
*He doesn't even really look like Jimmy Maxwell,* he insisted, regaining
control. *He's not good lookin' in that smooth kinda way. And he doesn't
have his stone cold eyes. Kowalski's about his height, but he's gotta be
thirty pounds lighter. And so what if he has blonde hair and blue eyes? So
does half the population. He's not Jimmy,* he'd told himself forcefully.
Not just for Kowalski's sake, but for his own. Because he was going to
have to work with him for awhile, while he took his old job back, and
there was no way he'd be able to do that if he kept thinking of him as
Maxwell. 
 
 But as it turned out, Kowalski had saved him the trouble. He'd quit that
morning, then reconsidered and transferred to another district. In any
case, they'd only had one more short meeting with Welsh, in which Kowalski
had turned over his files, muttered a few things about his top priority
cases, then left. So Ray hadn't had to deal with his ambivalent feelings
about him, and he was glad. 
 
 Maxwell had been enough to put him off blondes forever. He'd been the
bane of his life in the Family. The freak who'd almost broken him. Who'd—
 
 *No. Don't go there,* he thought as the darkness inside him stirred
again. *He's gone,* he told himself desperately, swallowing it down.
*They're both gone! Maxwell's hundreds of miles away, and that jerk
Kowalski's off to some other district. It's just me and Benny now, like it
used to be. And Serena will be here soon, and then everything will be all
right. So forget about it!*
 
 But deep inside, he wondered if it would really be that simple. Because
Benny was acting funny now. Ever since he'd had that weird fight with
Kowalski, the morning he'd quit. It was a good thing he hadn't known at
the time that it was Benny the prick was shouting at outside Welsh's
office that day, either, or he'd have waded into it and then Kowalski
would've really had something to yell about. Benny had been too polite to
shout back, but he wasn't. He'd have gladly kicked Kowalski's spiky-haired
little ass for him. But he wasn't sure if Fraser would've liked it if he
had. Ever since they'd heard that the punk was transferring out, Benny had
been quiet. Way too quiet. He couldn't help wondering what the hell had
gone on between the two of them. Whatever it was, Fraser wasn't talking.
And he didn't dare bring it up, didn't dare try to talk it out to make him
feel better. Because what if, unlike him, Fraser was sorry to see the
little punk go? He'd said a lot of nice things about him, after all. What
if they'd somehow gotten close while he was away? What if Fraser wanted
him back? 
 
 Ray's mouth tightened. He couldn't have that. Couldn't have that blonde
jerk around reminding him of what he was trying so hard to forget. Benny
didn't know it, but he needed him, needed his calm, steadying presence
like he never had before. Fraser had to help him settle back into his old
routine, so he could become Ray Vecchio again, and make Armando go away
forever. 
 
 He needed Benny all right; and in the last year, he'd learned to be
ruthless when it came to his deepest needs. So no way was he going to
share him with Stanley Ray Kowalski. *If his leaving ticked Benny off,
then he'll just have to get over it.*
 
 But deep inside, he felt a tiny flicker of guilt. He wondered if he was
really leaving Armando behind after all. Because wasn't that something he
would've said? Wasn't that something he would've done? Deprived someone of
a friend so that he could have total control, so that he'd feel more
comfortable? Besides—was it fair for him to expect Benny to just get over
it? Because that was the real trick, wasn't it? Getting over things.
 
 And he still hadn't done it.
 

**************************************************************************
*********
 
 Two weeks later, Ray Kowalski reported for work at the 29th District's
Narcotics Division. Once again, he found himself standing in front of his
boss's desk. Only this time, it belonged to his new boss, Captain Jim
Harlan. Harlan was tall and thin, with greying hair, a lined face and cold
eyes. He had the look of a guy who'd been stressed out for too long. Ray
wondered if he took that out on his men, and if he was going to like him
at all. 
 
 "Ray Kowalski, sir," he said, trying his best to sound polite. To start
off on the right foot, at least. He'd have plenty of time to screw things
up once Harlan got to know him. "Reporting for duty."
 
 Harlan's eyes bored into him. "Kowalski? Oh, right—the transfer from the
27th."
 
 "Yeah. Ray Kowalski," he repeated. Weird, how his own name sounded
strange to him now. He'd gotten used to answering to Vecchio, to thinking
of himself as Ray Vecchio. *But the Style Pig's got that name back now,*
he thought, pain and hatred stirring inside him. *Hope he chokes on it!* 
 
 Then he tried to push the thought of his rival away. *I'm not gonna think
about that anymore—about Fraser anymore,* he told himself for the
thousandth time. *That's why I came here, to get away from all that. From
him.*
 
 But the pain wouldn't go away. It had come with him, all the way across
town to the 29th. It had made a home with him, settled into his gut and
stayed there, despite all he could do. He could feel it even now. Losing
Fraser had blown a hole in him, and a cold wind was whistling through it.
 
 *Focus, dammit!* he told himself desperately as he realized with a start
that Harlan was talking to him. 
 
 "Your desk is right there, Detective." He pointed to the right rear of
the squadroom. "Check in with Personnel down the hall first, make sure
they've got all your paperwork straight—"
 
 "Sure. No problem," he smiled, trying to sound smart. Together. In
control. What he should be, instead of lost like he was.
 
 "Then look for Detective Rylan. He'll be your new partner, he'll get you
up to speed on your case load."
 
 "Rylan?"
 
 "Yeah. There he is. Young guy, long dark hair," Harlan said, pointing out
into the squadroom. 
 
 Even as Ray followed the direction of that pointing finger, he felt a bit
uneasy. There had been a hint of a sneer in Harlan's voice, as if he
thought Rylan was a prick, or a loser. Ray suddenly wondered if he was
getting the shaft by being assigned as his partner. Sometimes new guys in
the shop were given the freak of the bunch, the runt of the litter, the
partner nobody else wanted. He hoped that wasn't the case with him. He
searched the squadroom looking for long dark hair, and found it on a tall
kid standing by a desk close to the one Harlan had indicated was his now.
The kid was staring moodily down into a file. He wore expensive shades and
a black leather Harley Davidson jacket, stretched tight across broad
shoulders. He was about an inch or two taller than Ray, and heavier too.
Even bigger than Fraser—
 
 Ray set his jaw tightly. *God dammit, stop comparin' everyone you meet to
him!* "That guy?" he asked tersely, pointing at the biker wanna-be.
 
 "Yeah," the Captain said. "That's Pat Rylan."
 
 He didn't say anything else, but again, Ray heard a trace of a disturbing
undercurrent in his voice. Something like barely hidden dislike or
contempt. Though it made him a bit uneasy, he decided not to pass judgment
on Pat Rylan until he'd gotten to know him. If they were going to be
partners, he wanted to form his own opinion of him, not go by what anyone
else thought. 
 
 When he stared at him for a minute, his first impression was that Rylan
was really young. Not bad looking under all that hair, but young. "Uhh….
No offense, Captain, but is he shavin' yet?" 
 
 Harlan narrowed his eyes at him. "He's twenty five, Kowalski. Street
smart, too. And he's got a good arrest record. Anything else you wanna
know?"
 
 Ray shook his head. He could take a hint. He knew there was a lot Harlan
wasn't telling him, but from the look in his eyes, he was going to have to
find it out for himself. So he backed off. No sense contributing to the
Captain's stress level just yet. "No. I'll just check in with Personnel,
then I'll get started."
 
 "Good. Dismissed," Harlan said. "I'll come and check on you later, make
sure you're settling in all right."
 
 "Okay. Thanks, Captain."
 
 Ten minutes later, his paperwork all sorted out, he headed back into the
squadroom to meet his new partner. But the kid was gone. He hunted around,
and eventually found him in the lunchroom, drinking a coke and smoking
while he pored over a case file. Ray paused in the doorway for a few
seconds before he went in, to study him.
 
 His first impression was right; Rylan definitely looked younger than he
was. His face was smooth and unlined, though high cheekbones saved it from
boyishness. And now that he'd taken off his jacket, Ray could see that he
had a good build, the chest and biceps of a guy who worked out regularly
with weights. His long hair, dark eyes and vaguely sinister good looks,
coupled with a kind of cockiness Ray could sense instantly, were perfectly
suited to narcotics work. Despite the fact that he was only 25, he looked
like a guy who knew his way around the streets. He looked tough, despite
his age. 
 
 *Okay so far,* he thought. Having learned all he could visually, now it
was time to check out Rylan's personality. Ray walked up to him quietly.
"Hey. I'm Ray Kowalski," he said.
 
 Rylan didn't get up, but when he looked up at him, Ray saw a swift flash
of surprise on his face. Whether it was good or bad, he couldn't tell.
"Mmm. The new guy," was all Rylan said. But despite his terseness, he
stared at him intently. 
 
 Ray wasn't sure if he was trying to psych him out or if he was just
curious. But in any case, it took a hell of a lot more than a hard stare
to worry him. "Yeah. The new guy," he said calmly. "Yer new partner."
 
 An awkward silence fell after that. Ray studied Rylan more closely while
he waited for a response. *Eyes like a cat,* he thought. *Big, dark and
kinda mysterious. Kinda exotic. Bet he makes out like a bandit with
chicks.* He smiled wryly to himself. *What is it about me, that I keep
gettin' partnered with babe magnets?*
 
 "I'm Pat Rylan," the younger cop finally said. 
 
 "Good to meet ya," Ray muttered. But the truth was, it was way too soon
to tell about that. 
 
 Rylan seemed to feel the same way. He gave him another long, measuring
stare. Ray returned it with an unblinking look of his own. He registered
his good looks and his intensity without much interest. No matter what
Rylan was like, he'd already made up his mind that he wasn't going to make
the mistake of caring about his partner too much, this time around. He
didn't really care what Rylan thought of him, as long as they got along
well enough to work together.
 
 "Uh huh," Rylan answered. He finally lowered his eyes, and the staring
contest was over. He must've decided Ray was okay, because he reached out
a booted foot and pushed a chair in his direction. "Siddown. Take a load
off, partner," he said wryly. 
 
 "Thanks." Ray straddled the chair and smiled at the kid. "So tell me,
Rylan. How come yer workin' solo? What happened to yer last partner?"
 
 Rylan turned away and stubbed out his cigarette with a grimace. "Don't
waste any time, do ya?" he grunted.
 
 Ray shrugged. "I'm the curious type. That's why I became a detective."
That was a lie, but what the hell. It sounded good. Hell of a lot better
than the truth, which involved him pissing his pants in a bank robbery at
age twelve, then obsessing about catching the robber for the next 25
years. That was way more personal than he wanted to get with Rylan yet. Or
maybe ever. 
 
 "So. What happened to him?" he repeated, because Rylan hadn't answered
him.
 
 Rylan searched his eyes, as if he were trying to decide if Ray was
messing with his head. "He croaked," he said tonelessly at last.
 
 Ray shot him a sharp glance before he could stop himself. "Of what? Old
age?" He needed to know what he'd stepped into here. 
 
 Rylan shrugged. "Guess you could call it that," he said coolly. "Miller
was fifty two when he caught a bullet. That's old for a cop."
 
 Suddenly, Ray remembered hearing about it. Hank Miller, a narcotics cop
who'd been shot to death just two months ago, in a firefight in the
Heights. He'd left behind a wife and two kids. He and Fraser had talked
about it—hell, the whole 27th had been talking about it, and it had been
all over the news. They'd never met the guy, but he remembered Welsh
saying he'd known him years before. He'd said Miller was a good guy, a
stand up cop. He'd gone to his funeral. Ray wondered if Rylan had.
Wondered if he was in any way responsible for it. He wouldn't still be
working here if there was any evidence to that effect, of course, but it
still made him uneasy. *Was there somethin' funky about Miller's death? Is
that the reason Harlan doesn't like the kid? And do the other cops in the
Division feel the same way?* If so, he was going to have a tough time
here. As his partner, any shit that stuck to Rylan would rub off on him.
 
 And that was all he needed, to be hassled in his new job because of his
partner's problems. *Hunh uh. No way.* He made a mental note to check out
the Miller shooting as soon as he got a chance. *It's important to know
the mettle of the man you work with.* Fraser's words, uttered about him
when they'd first met. They crossed his mind before he could help it, and
he winced at the memory. He was trying very hard to forget him, but it
wasn't easy. Fraser had been more than his partner, he'd been like his
right hand. He felt sometimes like he was bleeding somewhere inside, now
that they weren't seeing each other anymore. Now that he never saw him at
all….
 
 He shook himself, realizing belatedly that Rylan was staring at him
again, and that this time, it was because he was waiting for a reaction to
his revelation about Miller's death. "Yeah. Right," Ray said aloud,
keeping his voice carefully noncommittal. He would've liked to ask Rylan
some more questions, but he knew he'd already put him on the defensive by
bringing it up so soon. It would be better to let it go for now, until he
could look into it quietly on his own. "So. You wanna bring me up to speed
on what you're workin' on?" he asked, trying to put him at ease by
changing the subject.
 
 Rylan nodded. "Okay. But first—what am I gonna call you?"
 
 Ray frowned at the odd question. "How 'bout Kowalski? That's my name."
 
 Rylan shook his head. "Nawww, that's too long," he said casually. "And
Walski sounds funny. How 'bout Ko?"
 
 Ray opened his mouth to object, because he'd never had a nickname before;
but then he shut it again. It struck him that Fraser had never called him
that, that no one in his life had ever called him Ko before. If Rylan had
called him Ray, it would've brought back memories of the Mountie. Or
worse, reminded him of Vecchio. This way, there was no danger of that. It
would be like a fresh start, which was what he needed. He'd already
decided he was going to change things this time around—so why not his
name?
 
 "Yeah. Okay. Ko's all right," he said, trying it out on his tongue. *It's
short anyway. And I've been called worse things, that's for damn sure!
Least he didn't try to piss me off by callin' me somethin' cute like
Dickhead. Least he's tryin' to be friendly.* These days, he would take
what he could get.
 
 "Ko it is, then," Rylan said. He got to his feet. "Come on back to my
desk, and I'll show you my case files, Ko."
 
 "Okay." But as he followed the younger detective through the station, all
Ray could think of was his new name. *Ko. Ko.* He rolled it around in his
head. *Sounds almost Hawaiian or somethin'. That's cool. 'Book 'em, Ko!'*
He smiled to himself, deciding he liked it. Decided he might like Rylan
too, though the jury would be out on that one until he worked with him for
awhile.
 
 The important thing was, he was here. He'd done it. Left Fraser, and now
he was starting over. New job, new name, a new partner—
 
 For a second, he almost felt good. But only for a second. Then his blues
came back again. Because he wasn't sure how much good all those changes
had done him. He was still empty inside, except for the pain. He still
couldn't seem to forget Fraser, no matter how hard he tried. And until he
could do that, he wouldn't really have left that part of his life behind
him.
 
 *Give it time,* he told himself. *It's only been a few weeks. Ya just got
started makin' changes. Give 'em time to work out.* And he realized that
they didn't have to stop with his name. He could make other changes too.
Change his style, grow a mustache, whatever. He'd reinvented himself once
before when he was desperately unhappy, had become Ray Vecchio to escape
the pain of losing Stella. He could do it again. He would do it. 
 
 It had been Stanley Ray Vecchio's job to forget Stella. He'd pretty much
done that. Now it would be Stanley Ray 'Ko' Kowalski's job to forget about
Fraser. 
 
 *And Ko,* he thought, *is just gettin' started.*
 

**************************************************************************
*********
 
 A few weeks later, Fraser, Ray and Serena Tianni sat around the little
table at Fraser's apartment one night. They'd just come back from dinner
at a Thai restaurant that Fraser had discovered during Ray's absence. Ben
had invited them both out, in honor of Serena's arrival in Chicago the day
before. Ray's mother had cooked a big dinner for her the previous night,
so the whole Vecchio clan could meet her. But Ben had wanted to do
something special for her as well, because she was Ray's fiance, so he'd
decided to take the couple out on his own. And he was glad he had. Serena
was every bit as beautiful as her picture, a charming, sweet woman with
whom he already felt very comfortable. He was glad, because it erased the
jealousy he'd felt when he'd first learned about her.
 
 Ray patted his stomach. "I tell ya, Benny, I didn't know if I was gonna
like that kind o' food, but it was great!" he sighed happily. "Think I ate
too much."
 
 Serena sat beside Ray, holding his hand, her blue eyes lit with happiness
too. "You don't need to worry, sweetheart," she said fondly. "You're too
thin. You could stand to put on a few pounds."
 
 Ray smiled at her, then looked at Ben. "Isn't that just like a woman,
Benny? We're not even married yet, and she's already tryin' to fatten me
up."
 
 Fraser smiled, knowing Ray loved Serena's attentions. He had brightened
visibly once she'd arrived safely in Chicago, and Fraser had seen no
further hints of the darkness his undercover work had engendered. The
demons that had bedeviled Ray during their breakfast the morning after his
return seemed to have been exorcised. At least, Fraser assumed so. Ray
hadn't mentioned anything about the Bookman to him again, or to anyone
else as far as Fraser could tell. When news had reached them of numerous
arrests of members of the Iguana family being carried out in Nevada and
Arizona as a result of the evidence Ray had gathered against them, but
that Maxwell had somehow escaped, he'd worried that it might revive his
traumatic memories. But though the entire 27th, it seemed, had stopped by
his desk to congratulate him, it hadn't seemed to faze Ray. He'd smiled a
lot, thanked everyone, and gone around whistling tunelessly that day, as
if he'd rather enjoyed the fuss they'd made of him. Fraser was both proud
of him and relieved. Even though his nemesis hadn't been caught, Ray
seemed happy with the results of his undercover work. 
 
 Or was he? Fraser couldn't help thinking how deeply his experience with
Victoria had scarred him, how impossible it had proved to forget—yet how
well he'd managed to hide his lingering pain from everyone. And he
wondered at times if Ray had really forgotten what he'd gone through
either; or if he was hiding it too. He'd tried to raise the subject with
him more than once, but Ray had deflected his questions, and Fraser hadn't
dared to push the matter further. He couldn't force Ray to confide in him,
after all, if he didn't choose to. But he wondered how much of his
experience he'd shared with Serena either. Somehow, he felt Ray wouldn't
want to burden her with his pain. Still, now that Serena was with him, he
seemed as happy and enthusiastic as Fraser had ever seen him. He looked
like a man who had put his recent past behind him, and was now
concentrating on his future. For his sake, Fraser hoped so.
 
 "Would you two like some coffee or tea?" he asked, trying to be a good
host. 
 
 "Tea would be nice," Serena said. 
 
 *Ahh, a fellow tea lover,* Fraser thought, pleased. 
 
 "Yeah, sure, Benny. That's fine," Ray said easily. 
 
 Fraser stifled a smile. Before he'd met Serena, Ray had always vehemently
refused to touch tea, insisting that real men in America only drank
coffee. He was glad to see that his friend was willing to bend to
accommodate his fiance's differing tastes. 
 
 And he wasn't the only one. Fraser himself had laid in extra supplies for
the occasion: a small bouquet of flowers for his little table, a new chair
for Serena to sit in, several kinds of tea and coffee, as well as extra
cups, saucers and plates so that he'd have something to serve them with.
Diefenbaker had raised a skeptical eyebrow at all the changes, but he
hadn't paid any attention to him. He still winced when he thought of the
tin plates on which he'd been forced to serve dinner to Victoria when she
returned, because they were all he owned. He didn't intend to be
embarrassed that way in front of Ray's fiance too. "I have lemon herbal
tea, and Earl Gray," he said. "Which would you prefer?"
 
 "The herbal tea would be great," Serena smiled. "I love lemon tea."
 
 "Okay," Ray chimed in. 
 
 "Very well," Fraser said, making a mental note to keep lemon tea in his
apartment in future. He hoped that he'd end up using a lot of it, that Ray
and Serena would still visit him once they were married. *Now that Ray is
gone, I have no one else.* The thought crossed his mind before he could
stop it. He winced and rose to his feet hastily, ostensibly so that he
could make the tea but really so that he could hide his face before anyone
noticed his expression.
 
 But it didn't work. Serena frowned slightly. "Is something wrong, Ben?"
she asked.
 
 "No." Fraser shook his head quickly. "Not at all. I'll just get the tea.
It won't take a minute." He escaped into his little kitchen with a feeling
of relief. As he'd already discovered, Serena was very perceptive, very
quick to notice emotional nuances in others. He had the uncomfortable
feeling that she'd already noticed his underlying depression about losing
Kowalski, and that she might've even mentioned it to Ray. Because when he
made his denial and turned towards the kitchen, he saw her trade a worried
glance with Ray that seemed to say, "See? I told you he's upset about
something."
 
 He tried to look more cheerful as he bustled around making tea, so they'd
have no further cause for concern. But as usual when he tried to suppress
powerful emotions, they only gripped him harder. Against his will, he
remembered Ray Kowalski's odd habit of drinking instant coffee flavored
with melted M & M candies. And that little jab of memory cleared the way
for an ambush. Suddenly, he saw a vision of his former lover. Saw Ray
soaking wet beside Lake Michigan, on that memorable day when they'd
wrecked Ray Vecchio's car. Heard him say with a delighted smile, "You
called me Ray!" 
 
 He remembered the odd, unexpected way his heart had lurched inside him at
those words.
 
 He hadn't understood it at the time. Now he knew what it meant. He'd
begun to fall in love with Stanley Ray Kowalski at that moment, with his
dazzlingly sweet smile, with his pure, almost childlike delight in the
simple fact that he'd said his name. That he'd begun to accept him. Until
that instant, he'd been so caught up in his own grief over losing Ray
Vecchio, that he hadn't really seen Ray Kowalski as an individual—just as
the man who'd replaced his best friend. But in that instant, he'd become
unique, not a man posing as Ray Vecchio but Stanley Raymond Kowalski. And
his realization that Kowalski might need a friend too, that he might be
lonely as well, had touched him.
 
 It was that hint of shared loneliness that had first made Kowalski real
to him, a person rather than a replacement. And perhaps, in the end, it
had been the knowledge that gave him the courage to reach out to Ray
himself, when he was hurting. To finally kiss him, as he'd been longing to
do. But he wondered bitterly if they shared even that anymore. 
 
 Was Ray as lonely as he, or had Ray replaced him with someone else? 
 
 Pain surged through his chest, tightening it until he could hardly
breathe. *It was a mistake,* he thought, remembering their breakup. *I
should've tried harder to prevent it, to make him stay.* But he didn't
know how. Ray had yelled at him, raged at him, told him he never wanted to
see him again. And once he'd heard that his transfer process had begun,
he'd been forced to believe that he meant it. He'd feared that if he'd
tried to call him, or go to his apartment to see him, they might come to
blows; and their breakup had been public enough, and ugly enough, as it
was. So he'd let him slip away without trying to stop it. 
 
 Now, he regretted it. He felt Ray's absence at his table, in his life, so
keenly that it was overwhelming. Ray Vecchio sat a few feet away with the
woman he loved, with his other half. Where was his?
 
 *Forget him,* he told himself sternly, trying to regain control. *Just
for now, just until they're gone. Then you can think of him again.*
 
 It was all that he could do. There was no way to banish Ray's memory
permanently, and he didn't even want to. He just needed to dispel it long
enough so that he didn't break down in front of his guests and humiliate
himself. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, and when he opened them
again, Ray's image was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief, rubbed his
chest to relax his clenched, aching muscles, and concentrated on making
tea. Fixed his mind on it so fiercely that nothing else could intrude. 
 
 But as he carried their cups of tea back to the table a few minutes
later, Fraser noticed Serena whispering into Ray's ear. At first, he
assumed she was whispering sweet nothings, but then he heard Ray whisper
back, "Ask him! Just ask him."
 
 His heart sank. Ask him what? Why he was so depressed, what he was
brooding about? Ray had already asked him that several times, and he'd put
him off each time. He dreaded going through that again, having to lie to
Ray's fiance too, to conceal his broken heart. *Oh what a tangled web we
weave,* he thought unhappily as he set their tea down on the table. But
since eavesdropping was impolite, he kept silent, and tried his best not
to look as though he'd overheard them.
 
 "Thank you, Ben. That smells wonderful." Serena flashed him a warm,
genuine smile, and his tension receded a little. She was a very tactful
person, and she seemed to like him. Surely she would spare him the
embarrassment of having to explain the sudden darkening of his mood,
despite their company.
 
 "Yeah. Thanks, Benny." Ray took his cup of tea as Fraser sat down, and
for a moment, they all sipped the warm, fragrant lemon tea in silence. And
just when Ben's worries had almost vanished, when he'd almost managed to
convince himself that he hadn't really heard Ray correctly, Serena set her
cup down and looked at him a bit shyly. "There's something I've been
wanting to ask you, Ben," she began, her eyes flitting nervously to Ray's
for confirmation. He saw Ray nod, urging her to continue, and he stiffened
in his chair, his earlier fear returning.
 
 "Ray says that you like to sing, and I was wondering…. Well, if you'd
consider singing something at our wedding," Serena said softly, her blue
eyes smiling hopefully into his.
 
 Fraser blinked. Immensely relieved that he'd been wrong, that they
weren't trying to pry into the sadness he was trying to hide, he fell all
over himself agreeing with her request. "Oh, of course. I'm flattered you
asked me. Well yes, of course! I'd love to."
 
 Ray laughed. "Okay, okay, Benny—we get the idea!"
 
 "The only problem is," he realized suddenly, "I'm not used to singing by
myself. Without accompaniment, that is. I mean, I have a guitar but it's
at home in Canada, and—"
 
 Ray's smile widened. "Not to worry, Benny. Should I go get it?" he
muttered mysteriously to Serena, who nodded happily at him. Ray squeezed
her hand, then got up and made for the door. "I'll just be a second,
Frayzh," he called over his shoulder. "Got somethin' I wanna show ya…."
 
 Fraser didn't understand what was going on, and his confusion must've
showed on his face, because Serena smiled at him. "We have a little
surprise for you," she said.
 
 Fraser lifted an eyebrow. "For me?"
 
 "Yes. We wanted to do something special for you, since you agreed to be
Ray's best man," she explained.
 
 Fraser was touched. "Really, it's not necessary," he protested. "I'm
happy to do it."
 
 Serena edged closer to him, smiling warmly. "I know you are, Ben. You
love Ray a lot, I can see that."
 
 Fraser lowered his eyes, feeling himself blushing a little at the
unexpected sentiment. But it was true, so he didn't try to deny it. A
silence fell between them for a moment. Then, to his surprise, Serena
reached for his hand and took it in her smaller, slender fingers gently.
And he didn't feel the kind of fear that he usually did when women touched
him. In fact, he felt a sensation of genuine warmth. He looked up into
Serena's pretty blue eyes, startled by his own response to her, and their
gazes met and held.
 
 "I hope . . . I hope that we'll get to be friends, Ben," Serena said
simply. "Good friends. Because there's no one who means more to Ray than
you. And I want you to know that our marriage won't change any of that.
I'm not going to take him away from you. You're my husband's best friend,
and I want you to be mine too. I want you to be a part of our lives.
Always."
 
 Fraser was stunned. He'd had no idea that Serena sensed his nagging fear
that he would eventually lose Ray to her entirely, that he might never see
him again after they were married. But it seemed that not only had she
felt it, she also understood it, and was doing her best to relieve it. He
felt a surge of surprise and affection for her. No one in his life, except
his Rays, had ever looked so deeply into his heart and responded so
generously to his feelings. He was so touched that for a moment, he
couldn't think of what to say. He'd liked Serena from the moment he met
her, but in that instant, she won him over completely.
 
 Finally, he cleared his throat and squeezed her hand very gently. "Well,
I … I'd like that too," he stammered. "Thank you."
 
 Serena grinned, then released his hand. "Oh, I'm so glad!" she breathed.
"You don't know how nervous I was about meeting you. Ray's talked so much
about you, I was afraid that if you didn't like me, the wedding would be
off!"
 
 Fraser's eyes widened, and he laughed. "You were nervous--about meeting
me?" He shook his head, remembering his own fright, how he'd ironed his
shirt and jeans three times tonight and checked his hair so often while he
was getting ready that Dief had finally rolled his eyes in disgust. All
because he'd wanted to make a good impression on Ray's new fiance. But as
he looked into Serena's lovely, laughing eyes, he knew his fears had been
in vain. His friend had chosen a woman whose heart was as beautiful as her
outward appearance, and who'd made it clear she had no intention of coming
between him and Ray. "You didn't need to be," he said. "I think Ray is a
very lucky man."
 
 "Thank you," Serena smiled. "I know he's lucky to have a friend like you,
Ben."
 
 Fraser shrugged, uncomfortable as he always was with compliments, but his
attention sharpened when Serena's face clouded over a little. "You know,
there's something I've been wanting to ask you," she said softly, with a
nervous glance at the door.
 
 Ben realized she wanted to say something that she didn't want Ray to
hear, and he frowned. "Is something troubling you?" he asked.
 
 "Well…. Yes," she said. She twisted her hands together, and Fraser
realized that it was the first time he'd seen her look upset. "It's about
Ray," she went on awkwardly. "I wouldn't normally ask you this, but has he
talked to you at all about—well, about what happened while he was
undercover?"
 
 "A little," he nodded. "He doesn't seem to want to talk about it."
 
 "No," she agreed. "And I can understand that. I met some of the men he
dealt with all the time. They used to come to Maxi's for business
meetings, and to party. And—" She swallowed, her face going a little pale.
"Oh, Ben, you don't know. That Jimmy Maxwell—he was the scariest person
I've ever seen. He liked to scare people. He liked to kill people. And
when he found out Ray was in love with me, he--"
 
 Her voice trailed off, and Fraser leaned closer to her, disturbed by what
she was hinting at. "Did he hurt you, Serena?" he asked, trying to keep
his voice gentle despite his anger at the thought of it. He was relieved
when she shook her head. 
 
 "No. Not me. Ray wouldn't let him. And he won't tell me, but I think—"
 
 Fraser heard the sound of Ray's feet coming down the hallway, and he
leaned even closer to Serena. "What?" he asked, sensing that she was just
about to tell him something really important. Something that had to do
with the darkness he'd seen in Ray's eyes the morning after he came back.
But it was too late. They both heard footsteps outside the door, and
Serena fell silent.
 
 Ray strode back into his apartment just then--carrying a shiny new
guitar, with a huge red bow tied on it. He carried it over and set it down
in Fraser's lap with a big smile. "Happy wedding present, Benny," he said.
 
 Fraser stared down at the beautiful instrument in his lap, so stunned
that he momentarily forgot all about what Serena had been saying. "Ray, I
… I couldn't possibly . . . This…. It's beautiful!" he breathed, turning
the guitar up so that he could look at it. 
 
 "Good! I'm glad you like it," Ray beamed. "Serena helped me pick it out,
she knows all about that stuff. It's handmade of Alaskan spruce and—what
was that other stuff, honey?"
 
 "Brazilian rosewood," Serena said. She was smiling again as well, her
eyes twinkling at his obvious astonishment. Ben was amazed that they'd
both managed to keep the gift such a complete surprise. He hadn't had any
idea they were going to do this.
 
 "Yeah. That's it. And see, it's got an abalone border around the hole
here," Ray pointed out, leaning over the guitar in Ben's hands. "Cool,
huh?"
 
 "It's not a hole, it's actually a sound board, Ray," he corrected
automatically. "And it's more than cool, it's beautiful." It was also
expensive. He knew that. Custom made guitars like this were worth hundreds
of dollars. There was no way he could accept such a gift. "I can't—" 
 
 Ray waved a hand in a careless, elegant gesture. "Now, don't say that,
Benny. Don't say no. See, in America, when a guy says he'll be another
guy's best man, it's customary for the guy to get his best man a gift. So
it's no big deal, okay? It's just what we do here."
 
 Ben had to blink back a sudden rush of moisture to his eyes. This wasn't
just any guitar, it was a beautiful, handmade instrument: a gift so
exquisite, so perfect, that it took his breath away. "But…. It's too
expensive, Ray. I can't," he faltered. He choked up, overcome by this
unexpected evidence of Ray's continued affection for him. He looked down,
embarrassed at his momentary loss of control. 
 
 To his surprise, Ray sat down beside him. "Hey, Benny," he said quietly. 
 
 Fraser took a deep breath and raised his eyes.
 
 Ray met his gaze and held it, his green eyes intense. "Listen. If it
wasn't for you, I never woulda' had the guts to take that undercover
assignment," he said quietly. "You taught me how one guy can make a
difference. You made me want to. And if it wasn't for that, I never
woulda' met Serena, and we wouldn't be gettin' married now. So I owe all
that to you, and this is my way of sayin' thank you. This is for you, from
Serena and me. From my heart. From both our hearts. Capiche? So you gotta
take it."
 
 There was no way on earth Fraser could've resisted that. He didn't even
try. He just nodded, his eyes still suspiciously bright. He had to swallow
hard before he could answer. "Capiche, Ray," he said, after a long moment.
"Thank you."
 
 Ray smiled. "You're welcome."
 
 Serena was beaming as happily as Ray was. "I'm so glad you like it, Ben.
Now we can sing together sometime, if you want to. Isn't this great?"
 
 "Yes," Ben said, surprised to find that the idea actually pleased him.
He'd never sung with a woman before, it would be a new experience—and with
Serena, he wouldn't be nervous. Well … at least not as nervous as he
would've been with someone else, anyway.
 
 Ray stood up again, put his arm around Serena and drew her close. "Yeah,
it is," he agreed. "Just don't do any o' that "Kumbaya" stuff, okay? Cuz I
don't wanna get sick."
 
 Fraser smiled. "How about "Oh, Canada', Ray?"
 
 The Italian rolled his eyes predictably at that. "How 'bout "All Around
the Watchtower"?" 
 
 "How about Beethoven's Fifth?" Serena chimed in, teasing both of them.
 
 Ray just grinned at her. "I'm not fallin' for that one," he said,
laughing. "Whatever you wanna sing, honey, it's fine by me."
 
 Watching them, for a moment, Ben was happier than he'd felt in weeks. As
he began to strum his beautiful new guitar gently, he realized how blessed
he was. He had his best friend back safe and sound from a dangerous
assignment, and even though he was getting married, his fiance had just
assured him that Ray would still be very much a part of his life. So he
wasn't losing a friend, he was gaining a new one, who had jointly gifted
him with a beautiful new guitar, and even promised to sing with him.
 
 Ray wasn't the only one who was lucky. Fraser knew he was, too. *I should
be happy,* he told himself. *I should.*
 
 But even as he told himself that, his momentary contentment drained away
when Ray and Serena smiled at each other, then bent their heads for a
tender kiss. He averted his eyes. Again, even in the charmed circle of his
friends' love, he felt alone.
 
 

**************************************************************************
*********
 
 Broken lover, 
 you can touch me
 In the dark 
 the innocent can't see….
 
 Melissa Etheridge
 
 
 Ray shoved the pizza box out of the way with his boot, and leaned his
head on the back of the couch. Ran a hand through his hair and scratched
at the mustache and neat square of beard he'd recently grown around his
mouth and chin. He kept it trimmed, but it was so new that sometimes it
still itched. "Man, I'm tired," he sighed, knowing all the beers he'd
drunk while they were going over their case files had contributed to that.
"What time is it?"
 
 Rylan looked at his watch. "1:30," he said, sounding a bit surprised.
"Damn, didn't know it was so late. Guess I should be goin', huh?" He shot
a sideways look at Kowalski, from inside the curtain of his long dark
hair. 
 
 Ray turned his head absently, sensing there was something behind that
seemingly innocent question. He found Rylan's brown eyes focused intently
on him, like he wanted something but didn't know how to ask for it. And
that hesitancy was very unlike him. A faint hint of uneasiness skittered
through his brain, but he forced it away. He was too tired for this, too
tired for undercurrents and hidden emotions. A bit fogged from beer, and
not in the mood to reach out. *If he wants somethin', he's damn well gonna
have to say so.* "Yeah," he said bluntly. "Maybe you should. It's kinda'
late, and we're not really gettin' anywhere with this anyway…"
 
 They'd been going over all the rap sheets and information they had on
some of the larger dealers in town, to see if they could figure out which
of them might be involved in peddling some bad dope that had showed up in
several different parts of Chicago lately. But so far, they weren't having
any luck. It could've been any one of a dozen different scumbags, all of
whom were more than capable of selling the strichnine-laced coke that had
already landed several junkies in the hospital, and killed a few more. 
 
 The problem was, the source was hard to trace. The junkies who'd survived
couldn't (or wouldn't) give more than vague descriptions of the guys who'd
sold them their blow. ("Whaddaya want from me, man? I was strung out at
the time!") And Ray knew that catching their penny ante dealers wouldn't
help much either. Even if they did, he'd have to go through several more
levels of peddlers before he got to their boss; and dealers were notorious
for going to prison rather than ratting out their suppliers, for the
simple reason that those who ratted didn't live long, in prison or out of
it.
 
 "I know," Rylan said. He frowned down at the files spread in front of
him, sounding as disheartened as Ray felt. "I just feel like we're missin'
somethin', ya know?"
 
 "Yeah, I know." Kowalski sighed to himself. He felt the same way. Like
there was something in all these files he just wasn't seeing. "It could be
any of 'em, but somehow … I like Donen for it," he said slowly, thinking
out loud.
 
 "Ty Donen? The one who runs drugs through that restaurant? The creep with
the ratfaced lieutenant? Why?"
 
 Ray shrugged, staring at Donen's picture, which lay near him on the table
in his opened file. "Dunno. 'S just a hunch. Word is, he's been having'
some money troubles. Maybe he's cuttin' his stuff to increase his cash
flow."
 
 To Ray's relief, Rylan didn't argue with him. He just nodded. "Could be.
Maybe we should go pay him a visit tomorrow," he said. "See what's
shakin'. Mess with his head."
 
 Ray smiled. That was one of the things he liked about Pat. He was tough,
even fearless. He was always good to go. "Yeah. Sure," he said. But he
still had a disturbing feeling, a nagging sense that they were missing
something vital. He felt it in his bones. *Fraser woulda found it.* The
thought arrowed across his tired brain before he could suppress it.
*Fraser woulda seen it….*
 
 Pain filled him, cut through his weariness like a knife. Like it always
did, if he allowed his brain to even form that name. He tugged moodily at
the earring he'd recently had put in his right ear, and touched his beard
again. He'd changed jobs, changed partners, gotten a new nickname, a beard
and an earring, and let months go by—but he still couldn't stop thinking
about him. 
 
 *I still can't let go.* Even though thinking of him hurt. Even though
Ben's memory was like a scalpel that could cut him into bloody little
pieces in seconds if he let it, sometimes when he got tired like this, he
couldn't force it away. He'd see Ben's blue eyes staring at him with that
wounded expression they'd had the last time he saw him, and he'd want him
so much he could hardly breathe.
 
 "Whatsa' matter, Ko?"
 
 Rylan's voice cut into his reverie, and he shook himself. For a minute,
he'd forgotten Pat was even in the room. "Nothin'. I'm just tired," he
said, figuring a half truth was better than a lie.
 
 "Ya sure that's all it is?"
 
 He sent a sharp glance Pat's way. "Said it was, didn't I?"
 
 "Yeah. But sometimes you seem…"
 
 "What?" he demanded irritably. 
 
 "Well, like you're not really with me," Rylan said, surprising him. "Like
you wish you were somewhere else. Or with someone else. The Mountie,
maybe." 
 
 Rylan eyed him calmly, but Ray felt like he'd just had a bomb dropped on
his head. *The Mountie! What the fuck? How can Rylan know about me and
Ben?* Rylan's tone was quiet, almost casual, but the depth of knowledge
about his past that he'd hinted at chilled Kowalski. He remembered telling
the kid that his ex-partner was named Ben, but that was it. He'd never
mentioned that he was a Mountie, or told him his last name. He hadn't
given Rylan any details, because he didn't want Pat to know anything about
him, or that painful part of his past. 
 
 So Rylan must've dug the information up on his own. Granted, that
wouldn't have been hard. A simple phone call to the 27th would've done it.
All Pat would've had to do was identify himself as Ray Kowalski's new
partner, for instance, and one of the female aids might've happily spilled
everything she knew about his ex partner, the 27th's red-coated chick
magnet. His name, where he worked—everything. The people at the 27th
would've trusted anyone who'd partnered up with him.
 
 The question was, why had Pat bothered? Had he been checking up on him,
on his record as a detective? That, Ray could've understood. But he hadn't
mentioned anything about that, or the cases he and Ben had worked
together. Instead, he'd implied that he knew he still missed Fraser a lot.
That hinted at the idea that Pat might have other, darker motives for his
curiosity. Motives like jealousy, maybe. 
 
 For a long moment, Ray didn't move, didn't even blink. He couldn't mask
his surprise, but he tried to keep his confusion and pain from showing
while he tried to figure out what to say. "How do you know about Fraser?"
he growled. Then he caught himself. Rylan couldn't really know they'd been
lovers. No one at the 27th could've told him that, because no one else had
known. Well, except for Lt. Welsh maybe, and he'd never mention it. So
Rylan had to be fishing for information, hoping that he'd betray himself.
"I mean, what do you know about him?" he added hastily, trying to make it
sound like a sneer. "You never even met the guy."
 
 But it was too late. Rylan smiled, and Ray knew his little slip had
confirmed his suspicions. "I know Constable Benton Fraser of the R.C.M.P.
used to be your unofficial partner," he said, his eyes boring into Ray.
"Weird name. Heard he's a weird kinda guy, too. Likes to taste things--"
 
 Ray saw red. "Fraser's not weird, he's Canadian!" he snapped, his anger
aroused in a second by Rylan's put-down. But he saw something flicker in
Rylan's eyes at that, a dark little glimmer of satisfaction that said he'd
just betrayed himself again, that he'd confirmed Rylan's suspicions about
him and his ex-partner. He bit his lip, knowing his instinctive defense of
his former lover had been a mistake.
 
 Rylan just smiled again. A nasty, speculative smile. "I think maybe he's
the reason you left the 27th. I think maybe—"
 
 "You think too much about stuff that's none o' yer damn business!" Ray
cut in, beginning to get scared as well as pissed off. He wasn't sure how
much Rylan knew and how much was pure guesswork, but it didn't matter. He
didn't want Rylan thinking about him and Ben as a couple. The next thing
you knew, he'd be blabbing it around the station, and the other detectives
would be harassing him for being gay. He'd seen it happen. They could do
more than just make his life miserable, they could get him busted. Get his
ass canned, if they wanted to. 
 
 *And it's over,* Ray told himself for the thousandth time, trying not to
feel the familiar pain that came with it. The last thing he needed was to
be punished for something that was dead and gone, and that had already cut
him to pieces anyway. He glared a warning at Pat to drop it.
 
 But the kid didn't back down. "Maybe. But you're *my* partner now, Ko,"
he said, looking him right in the eye. "And it's important to know things
about your partner." 
 
 There was something weird about the way he said it, something almost
possessive, that took Ray aback. He didn't know what to make of it, or of
the sudden intensity in Pat's eyes. Rather than backing off of the subject
like he'd wanted, Rylan had as much as admitted that he'd done some nosing
around about him. He wasn't sure what to do about that. He felt like
coming down hard on him for it, but he knew that Fraser had done the same
thing when they'd first started working together. And he hadn't jumped all
over him for it…. 
 
 Besides, Ray was guilty of a little snooping himself. He'd looked up the
Miller shooting when he'd first partnered up with Rylan, to make sure he
wasn't involved, that he wasn't a dirty cop. But he'd done that for good
reason after all, because he'd learned that Rylan's last partner had died
violently, and he'd needed to know if he could trust him or not. Why the
hell had Rylan pried into his past? Was he just checking on his new
partner out of curiosity as Fraser had, or did he have other reasons?
 
 Was he jealous? Ray couldn't tell. It seemed like a ridiculous idea on
the face of it. There was nothing going on between them, and they hadn't
been partners for that long either, just a matter of months. Still, he
didn't like the way their conversation was going. Didn't like the feeling
that there might be ominous secrets hidden in Rylan's dark eyes, or that
he'd checked him out so thoroughly without good reason. "What's yer
problem, Rylan?" he asked, leaning forward and meeting him stare for
stare. "Ya worried about why I transferred here? Izzat it? Think I'm a bad
cop or somethin'? Ya tryin' to say you want a new partner?"
 
 Rylan finally backed down at that, his eyes widening a little in
surprise. He shook his head swiftly. "No, no! It's nothin' like that. Yer
a great partner, Ko. I'm learnin' a lot from you. I'm just curious about
your old partner, that's all. About why you left—"
 
 Frustrated, Kowalski barked, "I told you why! I was on an undercover
assignment. Fillin' in for another cop. He came back and took his old job
with Ben, so I had to go. End o' story."
 
 "Is it?" Pat shot back coolly. "I wonder."
 
 Ray set his jaw. Despite his warnings and his obvious anger, Rylan was
still trying to pry, and he didn't like it. "Why're you askin' me all
these questions all of a sudden?"
 
 Rylan shrugged. "You're an interesting guy, Ko. I'm just tryin' to get to
know you better," he said softly. 
 
 That made him back off a bit. Okay--so maybe Rylan was just curious about
him. In a friendly way. Not thinking he was gay. He could live with that.
He rolled his eyes, his anger fading to exasperation with that admission.
His fear ebbed away. "Jesus, Pat! We spend 10 hours a day together,
sometimes more," he complained. "What more d'ya want?"
 
 Rylan held his gaze. "What if I told you I do want more?"
 
 Shocked, Ray tensed up again instantly, his heart speeding up. *Shit, I
must be hallucinating,* he thought. *This can't be. I'm dreamin'.* "What
the hell are you talkin' about?" he rasped, hoping he was wrong. Hoping
this didn't mean what he thought it did. *Cuz I never thought he was
interested in me—but that look in his eyes just now…. Oh, God.*
 
 Rylan took a deep breath, then put a hand on his arm and slid it slowly
up to his bicep, never looking away for a second. "I'm talking about
this," he said. He let his gaze drop to Ray's mouth, and his voice was
suddenly husky. "About sex. You and me, together. You ever done it with a
guy, Ko?"
 
 Ray didn't answer. He closed his eyes, half hoping this was just a bad
dream brought on by too much late night Budweiser. *Holy shit! This isn't
happening. It isn't. It can't be!*
 
 But Rylan wasn't finished. He wasn't a dream, and he didn't disappear.
Far from it. "I wanna be with you, Ray," he said hoarsely. "Wanna have sex
with you. I've been wantin' to ever since I first saw you. How 'bout it?"
 
 Kowalski held himself very still. He was so stunned he didn't know what
to say. During most of his time at the 27th, he'd hardly been able to get
a date. Yet within the past few months, two of his partners had come on to
him! *What the fuck, is it my cologne?* he wondered, scratching his head.
*'And why didn't I see it comin'?* He'd heard some rumors that Rylan was
bisexual, but he'd put them down to sour grapes. Hadn't paid any attention
to them. Now he wished he had. Maybe then, finding out that Pat wanted him
wouldn't have come as such a shock. 
 
 But to Ray's surprise, he didn't say no to Rylan's come-on. Though part
of him wanted to, the part that didn't want to be with anyone but Ben, the
other half argued that he had to face reality. And the reality was that
Fraser had betrayed him, and he'd left him for it. Fraser was gone
forever. So what was he supposed to do now, spend his whole life crying
over it? Bleeding to death, drop by slow, torturous drop? Wanting
something he was never going to get back, like he had with Stella? And
feeling so alone he ached inside? Or should he take what Rylan was
offering just because it was touch, and that was better than being alone?
 
 "I don't know," he mumbled. It was stupid, but he didn't know what to
say. Because though it was flattering, the kid's offer was also scary.
There was more involved here than just lust and loneliness. Pat wasn't one
of his usual one-night-stands, like the chicks he used to pick up in bars
after Stella left. He was his partner--and he'd just found out, to his
sorrow, what could happen when you let yourself fall in love with your
partner. He was in no danger of that himself this time, he was still too
broken up inside about Fraser to care about anyone else. But he didn't
want that to happen to Rylan, either. 
 
 And the way Pat had checked up on him, his interest in his relationship
with Fraser, hinted at feelings that ran deeper than casual lust. Ray
didn't want to get involved with him if that were true. He felt nothing
for Rylan beyond casual friendship and the loyalty any cop owed his
partner. And he had just enough compassion left that he didn't want to
break anyone else's heart the way Stella and Ben had broken his. He didn't
want to hurt Pat needlessly. So he searched the younger cop's eyes. "I
don't think you wanna do this," he heard himself say. And the significance
of that little 'you' wasn't lost on him. What did he want? He wasn't sure.

 
 "Yeah I do," Rylan said, picking up on his ambivalence. "The question is,
do you?" He didn't move, or take his hands off Ray's arm. He just wet his
lips, and his brown, catlike eyes were intent. Undeniably hungry. They
pinned Ray to the couch with their intensity. 
 
 Ray felt a tiny shiver in his belly that might've been lust. *Or maybe
it's just loneliness,* he thought tiredly. *Not sure I'd know the
difference anymore.* He'd noticed Rylan's striking good looks, of course.
He'd seen women noticing him a lot too, and no wonder. He was built,
confident, plus his dark hair and eyes gave him that Bad Boy look chicks
loved. But he just didn't do anything for him. He felt no excitement at
the thought of taking him to bed. Not so much as a spark. *He's not Ben,*
he thought before he could stop himself. But the other half of him
answered, *Yeah, but he's all you've got now.* He lowered his eyes, not
wanting Rylan to read his expression. "I dunno," he repeated finally,
wavering. "We're partners. It's probly not a good idea."
 
 Rylan snorted softly. "That's funny, coming from you," he said. "Since
when did you start acting cautious?"
 
 *Since I fell in love and it almost killed me—twice,* he thought
bitterly. But he didn't say so. Rylan didn't know that; and he didn't want
him to. He didn't want to share his feelings with him, didn't want to open
up. That was how you got hurt, and he was done with that. He was never
going to let anyone close enough to rip his heart out again. Ever. So he
didn't say anything.
 
 But while he was brooding, Rylan reached down and put a hand on his leg.
Moved it slowly up his thigh, in a definite caress. "Come on, Ko," he
urged softly. "It'd be hot, you and me. I can feel it. Don't you want it
too?"
 
 As that hand crept up his thigh, he felt a slight shiver. He knew he
should probably put a stop to this, that it wasn't a good idea for either
of them, but he couldn't make himself do it. No one had touched him like
that in a long time. Not since Ben. He stared down at Pat's hand instead,
feeling cornered, unable to say yes or no without hurting him. And as he
did, he had a sudden, painful vision of another hand: slightly smaller,
paler, and more beautifully shaped. 
 
 Ben's hand.
 
 He couldn't believe it. After all this time, even when he was with
another guy, he couldn't stop seeing Fraser. Couldn't stop wanting him. It
was stupid, but that memory shook him, made him want to push Rylan away.
*Don't, that's not fair,* he told himself. *It's not his fault he's not
Ben.* He closed his eyes for a second and concentrated on feeling Rylan's
touch, so he could banish the memory of Fraser's. And when he opened them
again, all he could see were Rylan's big, blunt fingers on his leg.
Stroking him. Feeling him. 
 
 *Good,* he thought, relieved that he'd made Fraser's memory disappear.
 
 But he realized too late that Rylan had taken his momentary distraction
for a yes. He'd probably even thought he'd closed his eyes because he was
excited. Because his gaze was fixed on his face, and he was smiling
slightly. Triumphantly. He stroked him harder. "That's it, Ray," he
breathed. "You feel it, don't you? How hot it would be?"
 
 *What I feel is, I want Benny. Not you,* he thought helplessly. But Pat
had no way of knowing that he'd been thinking of the Mountie. Wanting him
instead…. Ray opened his mouth to tell him the truth, but he couldn't. The
words stuck in his throat. They hurt too much. He found himself joking
instead. "Well, it's kinda' hard not to feel you. Ya got a grip like a
python, Pat." He smiled tentatively, to cover the fact that he didn't
really know what to do. He should've said no, but Rylan's touch was the
first thing that had managed to distract him from his pain in months; and
maybe he needed that. Maybe he just wanted to see if he could forget about
the Mountie long enough to get a hard on about someone else. Or maybe he
just didn't want to reject Rylan, to hurt the one person he'd allowed
himself to feel even friendship for since he left the 27th. 
 
 Whatever the reason, he still didn't move or push the younger cop away.
 
 Rylan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening, as if he knew he had it made
now. "Ya think so? I haven't even really got started yet." Holding his
eyes, Rylan moved his hand further up and traced the length of Ray's cock
through his jeans. Stroked it slowly, with practiced ease. Ray held his
breath. But he felt none of the pleasure, none of the tenderness, none of
the incredible, intense excitement he'd felt with Ben.… No emotion at all,
only a faint stirring of desire. Just his cock hardening a little. 
 
 But he decided that would have to be enough. That even a cold flicker was
better than nothing at all. *You can't spend the rest of your life wanting
someone who doesn't want you,* he told himself. *You're gonna have to get
used to stuff like this, because it's all you've got now.*
 
 "Okay," he said at last. Then he realized that since he had no idea what
Pat felt or what he was expecting, he'd better tell him there were limits
to this, to what he was willing to do. He reached down and caught his
hand, stopped its stroking and sought his eyes. "All right," he growled.
"We can do this. But don't kid yerself. This is tonight. Just one night.
No strings. Nothin' else." 
 
 *I'm not in love with you,* he wanted to say. But he didn't, because he
wasn't sure Rylan even cared.
 
 "That's cool," Rylan said casually. He knelt down between Ray's legs. He
wasn't smiling, but he didn't look crushed, either. At least, Ray didn't
think he did. Pat's eyes were hooded over like he was keeping secrets, so
it was hard to tell. But when he let go of the warning grip he'd taken on
his hand, Rylan's secretive look melted into a smile. A slow, satisfied
smile that said he'd known this was going to happen all along. "Who says I
want anything else?" he asked, caressing Ray's inner thighs with both
hands now. Rubbing sensually. "This is just sex, Ray. No strings. Like you
said."
 
 But Ray wasn't entirely reassured. Rylan had just said he'd wanted him
from the time they met, yet he'd never given the slightest hint of it.
Which meant that Pat was either lying to flatter him, or else he was
extremely good at hiding his feelings--far better than Ray himself. Ray
was inclined to believe that he'd been hiding the truth about his secret
attraction. He remembered the long, intense look Rylan had given him when
they first met. He'd assumed at the time that the kid was just sizing up
his new partner. But now he suspected there'd been more to it than that.
*Maybe he was sizing up Little Ray instead….*
 
 It worried him. As far as he was concerned, they were partner cops, and
maybe friends. But not friends the way he and Ben had been, not close
friends at all. And they would never be lovers the way he and Ben had
been, either. Never in a million years.
 
 Looking hard into Rylan's hungry dark eyes, he said, "Okay. But remember,
this is just for tonight. It doesn't mean anything."
 
 Rylan just grinned. "But it's sure gonna feel good, Ko."
 
 Ray had no chance to reply, because Rylan leaned forward and kissed him.
Hard. Forcefully. Ray felt an odd flash of relief, because the contrast
between his kiss and Ben's was so total, there was no comparison. Rylan
had none of the Mountie's gentleness. His kiss was more like an assault,
like Ray's mouth was a fort he was going to take or die trying. Pat forced
his lips apart and explored his mouth with deep, hungry thrusts of his
tongue as he slipped his arms around him. Ray shut his eyes, trying to get
into it. Rylan was big, warm and muscular, and his hard body enfolded him
tightly. He could feel the kid's heart pounding against him, racing with
excitement. He heard Pat making low sounds of pleasure in the back of his
throat. 
 
 But Ray didn't make a sound. He knew Pat was right. It should've felt
good. He should've enjoyed it. But all he felt was a surge of sadness. 
 
 But he'd done it now. He'd said yes, so he couldn't back out or he'd look
like a wimp. He finally forced himself to return the kiss, and at his
response, Rylan made a small, hungry sound in the back of his throat,
breathing hard. *Man. He really wants me,* Ray realized. *He's got it
bad.* It should've been flattering, but somehow it wasn't. 
 
 Pat pulled up his shirt and started working on his nipples, rubbing and
pinching them. "Mmm, that's it," he murmured as they hardened under his
hands. He stopped kissing Ray just long enough to pull his shirt off. Then
he took his mouth eagerly again while his hands dipped lower and started
squeezing him through his jeans, then pulling at his belt. His clever
hands made short work of undoing his buckle, and his expertise told Ray
that he'd undoubtedly done this a lot. Probably a hell of a lot more than
he had. But he couldn't bring himself to care. *So what if Rylan's a slut,
what if he fucks someone different every night? At least someone's
touchin' me. At least someone wants me.*
 
 He could feel his heart beating a little faster at the sensual assault,
and he told himself that was enough. Rylan moaned enthusiastically,
breathing hard as he leaned into him. As he pulled his belt off, he
pressed him back into the couch pillows with more hard kisses. Then he
pulled his own t-shirt off, so they were both naked to the waist. Ray
looked at Pat's chest. His body was buff compared to his, with large, hard
muscles and a springy mat of dark chest hair that trailed in a line down
his flat stomach to the waistband of his jeans. But despite his good looks
and enthusiasm, Ray felt nothing. No real pleasure at his kiss, his touch.
Just a kind of letdown.
 
 *Ben isn't hairy like that,* he found himself thinking. *His chest is
smooth. Perfect….* He remembered how incredibly sensual it had felt,
pressing their smooth chests together, skin to skin with no scratchy chest
hair in between, just satin-smooth flesh--
 
 *Jesus,* he told himself angrily. *Stop it!*
 
 He closed his eyes and tried to focus on what Rylan was doing to him.
Maybe because thoughts of Fraser kept distracting him, his body wasn't
responding much. Despite the way his partner was working him over, all he
had was a barely perceptible flicker of heat between his thighs. He wasn't
really hard. But he didn't pull away. Not when Rylan forced him down onto
his back on the couch. Not even when he pinned him underneath his big body
and drove his tongue so deeply into his mouth that Ray could hardly
breathe. He was starting to realize that some of the rumors he'd heard
about Rylan had been true: he definitely seemed to get off on dominating
his partner. But he didn't protest the younger cop's roughness. Didn't say
a word. He knew he should stop this, that it didn't feel right, but
somehow, he couldn't push Pat away. The kid seemed so excited that it
would've been cruel to change his mind at this stage of the game. So he
clung to him, hoping that Pat's horniness would rub off on him somehow.
 
 But it didn't. Memories of Ben's lovemaking intruded again, filling his
mind against his will. Gentle hands, tender kisses.
 
 "Mmm. You taste good, Ray," Rylan moaned, gripping him so tightly that it
hurt a little.
 
 Ray tried to focus on his grip, on his compliment. But in his head, he
could hear Ben saying the same thing; and his voice, his words, were the
only ones that mattered. He remembered how Ben had touched him that time,
how he'd run his hands all over him so gently, without speaking—
 
 Rylan would never do that for him, he realized, his heart sinking. Then
he felt his cock softening too, and felt a surge of despair. Of anger.
*God DAMMIT!* he screamed inwardly, frustrated by the Mountie's ghost.
*Get outta my head! Leave me alone!* 
 
 But it was no use. Instead of clearing obediently, his brain called up
another image of Ben. The way he looked asleep, the way his dark eyelashes
looked so thick and soft against his pale cheeks….
 
 *Jesus effing Christ!* He moaned out of sheer frustration. If Rylan
hadn't been there, he would've yelled. Banged his head against a wall. Hit
something. He had a big, beautiful young cop crawling all over his skinny
body, doing his best to turn him on, and all he could do was think of
Fraser. Benny the betrayer. 
 
 *Freak,* he told himself, disgusted. *Yer hopeless, ya oughtta be locked
up in a rubber room somewhere!* Then, all at once, a new thought struck
him. Saved him from despair. Since he couldn't forget Ben, why not imagine
that Rylan was him? That they were together again? Maybe that'd get him
going. 
 
 It wasn't something he usually did—that he'd ever had to do before—but it
was the only hope he had, so he tried it. He closed his eyes and sank his
fingers into Rylan's hair, pretending that it was Ben's dark hair he was
touching instead. Then he moved one hand lower, onto Pat's broad
shoulders, telling himself it was Ben's body he was holding. Ben's hard
muscles he was stroking. *Benny Ben,* he whispered in his head, gritting
his teeth against the sudden impulse to moan his name out loud.
 
 But it didn't work. Rylan's hair was far too long, and not as thick and
silky as Fraser's. And his skin was rougher, not as smooth. He didn't
smell like Benny, didn't taste like him—didn't feel like him. His body
knew the difference as well as his heart did, and it refused to respond.
It just wasn't the same. Ray bit his lip. *I want it to be over, dammit!*
he raged inwardly. *When is it ever gonna be over?*
 
 Not tonight, anyway. That much was obvious. He could've had ten
supermodels working him over, and it still wouldn't have turned his crank.
After that, Ray gave up trying to pretend that Rylan was Fraser so that he
could get excited. He quit pretending, period. To himself, and to Pat. He
took his hands out of Rylan's hair, put them on his shoulders and just
laid there and let him do what he wanted.
 
 Rylan didn't seem to care that Ray wasn't responding to him any more,
that he wasn't stroking or kissing him in return. He sucked and licked and
even bit at Ray's neck enthusiastically. Ray doubted that he even noticed
that he was just going along for the ride. Then he wondered if having a
passive partner actually excited him, if Pat preferred taking charge of a
fuck and making his partner go along. Then he felt weird about lying there
analyzing him like that. He'd never done that with Fraser—he hadn't been
able to. Because whenever Ben touched him, all rational thought went out
of his head….
 
 *But he's not Ben.* That thought came again, producing a stab of pain
more vivid than any feeling Rylan's touch had aroused. Ray stolidly tried
to ignore it.
 
 Rylan reached down and began to tug at Ray's jeans, working them down
towards his knees. Then he closed his hard fist around his nearly limp
cock, began to pump it slowly while he sucked, then bit at his hardening
nipples. It hurt a little, and Ray sucked in his breath. But Rylan must've
mistaken that for a moan of pleasure, because he smiled. "Oh, yeah, Ko,"
he panted. "You're hot…"
 
 Ray finally remembered to moan again then, for Rylan's sake. Because he
couldn't bring himself to do anything else, and it didn't seem fair to
just lie there like a log while the kid sweated over him. Besides--if this
was all he was ever going to have now, buddy fucking or one night stands
with people he didn't care about, he had to at least pretend to enjoy it. 
 
 But soon, slowly jacking him off wasn't enough for Rylan. He pulled Ray
down onto the floor and squeezed his cock harder. He started to fist him
faster and faster, twisting and pumping Ray's cock until the movement was
almost savage, until it hurt. And he started to squeeze his balls at the
same time. Kowalski hung onto him, eyes closed, not wanting to look at
what Rylan was doing to him. *Damn, he's rough!*
 
 Ray was moaning for real now. Biting his lip. Still, he didn't try to
stop Rylan. He let him yank at his cock, let him bite his neck. Because he
could feel the other man's pleasure, feel his rising excitement, and it
had been so long since he'd felt that way himself that part of him
responded to it. It didn't touch the inner, icy core of him, didn't warm
his cold heart, but his body finally began to respond to the crude
stimulation. His breath came faster and his cock started to throb in
Rylan's grip.
 
 "That's it, Ko," Rylan panted as Ray hardened slowly in his fist. "Give
it to me! Come, baby."
 
 It took a long time, but finally, he came. Not the satisfying, mind
blowing way he had with Benny, but enough so that a little spilled into
Rylan's rough hand at last, over it, making him groan. "Ohhh, yeah, Ray.
That's it!" he whispered, pleased. He tasted the semen on his hand, then
rubbed some of it onto Kowalski's belly. "That's what I wanted. Doesn't
that feel good?" he breathed.
 
 *No,* Ray thought bitterly. *No, it doesn't.* It was so far from good
that it almost hurt. He knew what good felt like. Good felt like warm,
azure blue eyes and big hands that were gentle, so gentle on his skin….
Good felt like tenderness, like being understood right down to his bones.
Good felt like pleasure spreading from the warm, slow, sensuous touch of
his lover's hands, like being so excited by it that he could hardly
breathe. Good felt like being connected to his lover, not just their
bodies but everything—hearts, minds, souls. Good felt like exploding so
hard when he came with him—for him--that he felt like he was going to pass
out. 
 
 Good felt like Stella and Ben. Like it was with them. Good felt like
love.
 
 This felt like being fucked. Hard, rough, fast, impersonal. It wasn't
love, or anything close to it. His body responded to it in a way—it was
programmed to do that. But he knew, better than most, how little that
meant. In his career as a cop, he'd learned that sometimes even rape
victims came. Give enough attention to certain body parts, and they'd do
their thing, no matter how you felt about it. It meant nothing. Less than
nothing. So did this. It didn't touch his heart, didn't move him at all.
Even though they still lay close together, though Rylan still had his arms
around him, sex with him had left him cold inside. Cold as ice. Empty,
like sex had with the women he used to bring home after Stella left him.
He felt so hollow that he had to remind himself that this was all he had
now. All he could expect.
 
 *Why the fuck did I do this?* he wondered. He felt so let down that he
didn't even want to talk about it. But he knew he couldn't tell Rylan
that. Not just because it might hurt him, but because it might make him
angry; and the last thing he needed right now was a fight. He was beating
himself up just fine. He didn't need any extra help.
 
 He forced his lips to move. "Yeah. Sure. That was good," he muttered. And
he was lying as much for his sake as for Rylan's. It was bad enough he'd
just had lousy sex with his own partner, when he hadn't liked it,
should've known better anyway and hated himself for it. If he had to talk
about it on top of all that, he'd go nuts. So he complimented Pat hoping
that would shut him up.
 
 "It was great," Rylan agreed. He sounded satisfied, even a bit smug; and
he was smiling.
 
 *If you say so,* Ray thought sourly. All he wanted now was to be alone.
To get Rylan off him. Make him go away. He wondered how to do that, how he
could make him leave without making him feel like he'd just been wham,
bam, thank you ma'amed—
 
 But Rylan had other ideas. "Now it's my turn," he said, his eyes lighting
up.
 
 Ray groaned inwardly. He knew Rylan hadn't come yet, but selfishly, he
didn't care. He'd had enough. He opened his mouth to say no. But before he
could say a word, Rylan flipped him over onto his stomach. Then Ray heard
him undoing his own belt. He suddenly realized what he wanted, and he felt
a cold flare of rage. "No!" he snapped. He turned over again, pulled away
from his partner, pulled his jeans back up to his hips, got up and sat
back down on his couch.
 
 Rylan blinked, hands frozen on his zipper. "What? You got a problem?"
 
 He shook his head. "Don't even think about it," he said, biting the words
off. 
 
 Rylan blinked again, frowning in confusion. "What? You want me to use
lube? A glove? What?"
 
 He swallowed hard, swept by another wave of deep, inexplicable anger that
rose up in his throat. He felt like yelling, *I want you to get the hell
out. And don't ever touch me again!* But he bit back the words. He'd let
Rylan fuck him after all, had told him it was okay. He couldn't scream at
him now for trying something else. For not being someone else….
 
 He took a deep breath, and choked down his rage. "No. I'm not gonna do
that. That's all," he grated finally. 
 
 "Why?" Rylan climbed to his feet and looked down at him with a frown. He
looked so confused, so disappointed that Ray was surprised. His earlier
uneasiness returned. Rylan looked emotional, and he didn't like it. He
didn't want that.
 
 "That's just the way it is," he said gruffly. Because Pat's feelings
about it didn't matter. He couldn't let him fuck him in the ass, would
never let him do that. He didn't know why, but the very idea made him so
furious that he would've hurt him if he'd tried it again. "Take it or
leave it. If you don't like it, you can go."
 
 Rylan raised an eyebrow. "Hey, don't get upset, Ko! It's cool," he
breathed. "We can do other things…"
 
 "Whatever," Kowalski said coldly. He supposed he owed Rylan that much.
One more fuck, just to get him off. "But not that," he repeated. "I'm not
ever doin' that."
 
 
 Rylan wanted to stay the night with him. Seemed eager to keep having sex
with him. But as soon as he could, as soon as he made him come, which
didn't take long, Kowalski made him leave. Afterwards, he laid in bed
wondering at himself. At the fact that he'd just had sex with his own
partner. And at how he'd done it. On his couch and on the floor, instead
of in his bed where it was comfortable. He hadn't even taken Pat into his
bedroom. Why? The obvious answer was, he didn't want him there. But why?
And why hadn't he let Pat come inside him, either? He'd let him lick him,
bite him, put bruises on him—why not that? Why had he balked at that? What
made it different?
 
 But deep inside, he knew. Fraser had been in his bed, had made love to
him in that bed—so he didn't want Rylan in it. Crazy, but it was true. And
the other thing, that was … personal. Intimate. More than just sex. He'd
never let anyone do that to him…. He shut his eyes, but he couldn't shut
out the truth that rose from deep inside him. *But I would've let Benny do
it.*
 
 He gritted his teeth. It was all about Fraser, damn it. All of it! Not
just what he'd let Rylan do, but what he hadn't. He'd never have been with
him at all, would never have let Pat touch him, if Fraser hadn't betrayed
him. A fresh wave of pain cut through him, as the wound inside him that
had never healed broke open and began to bleed again. *Face the truth, you
dipshit,* he told himself harshly. *Ben's gone! I left him, and I'm never
gonna see him again!* 
 
 But the words didn't matter. Facing the truth didn't make his pain go
away. It just seemed to deepen the helpless longing inside of him.
Everything he did, or didn't do, still related to Fraser. He suddenly
wished that Fraser had made love to him that way, the way Rylan had wanted
to. *But he never did. I never asked him to. Don't even know if he wanted
to. We weren't together that long….* He felt heavy with regret, with
missed chances. Still, he didn't want anyone else to touch him like that.
Even though Ben was gone. 
 
 *Gone. I left him, and I can't go back.*
 
 The words were cold, like a funeral dirge. They made him shiver, even
though he was wrapped securely in his blankets. So did the memory of his
own coldness. Although he'd let Rylan fuck him, and even though he liked
him, and trusted him as much as he'd let himself trust anyone anymore, he
hadn't felt a thing. Nothing positive, anyway; nothing but sadness. Rylan
had pushed his body's buttons enough to make him come once, but that was
all. Though he'd gotten Pat off after that, he hadn't come again himself
in the process. There had been no connection between them, nothing
mingling except their bodies. He was still empty. Still cold. Still alone.

 
 *This was a mistake,* he thought. He was bruised and aching, inside and
out. Being with Pat had made him feel worse than ever. 
 
 *Okay. So it didn't feel good. It's not the end of the world. Just don't
let it happen again,* he told himself. But he wasn't really sure he meant
that. Because he'd never felt so alone as he had in the past few months,
since he'd left Fraser. He had a hole inside him the size of the Grand
Canyon, and nothing to fill it. He hadn't been with anyone since, hadn't
even wanted to. He didn't want to be with Rylan now, but what else did he
have? He wasn't sure how much longer he could carry on doing his job, how
much longer he could keep pretending he was a functioning human being,
without something to ease the terrible emptiness inside him. 
 
 Maybe Rylan's desire would save him. Keep him away from the edge until he
could find his feet again. *Maybe it'll even make me forget about Fraser
some day,* he told himself, though he wasn't sure he really believed that.
*At least Rylan looks up to me—at least he needs me.* The awful thing was,
he knew how pathetic that sounded, but he clung to it anyway. It was all
he had to stuff into that hole, all he had to keep him from falling into
his Grand Canyon and never finding his way out. Tears stung the corners of
his eyes, and he let them fall. 
 
 A long time later, when they finally stopped falling, he slipped into a
fitful sleep.

**************************************************************************
*********
 
 Lying in the city night
 a million fingers tingling my skin
 Out there in the sea tonight,
 I thought I saw you clutching your sin….
 
 Melissa Etheridge
 
 
 Later that night, Ray dreamed of Fraser again. He heard a knock on his
door and in his dream, he didn't pull out his gun like he always did now.
He just went to the door and pulled it open, feeling eager instead of
afraid. And when he did, he saw Fraser standing there. Impossibly
handsome, glittering in his red and gold uniform, he cocked his head and
searched his eyes with a mournful expression, as if he knew what he'd
done. He looked as lonely as Ray felt; and he said just one thing. "Why,
Ray? Why?"
 
 He couldn't answer. He'd meant to take that look out of Ben's eyes, to
make him happy. Maybe he still could…. He reached out, frantic to touch
him. To pull him to his heart and hold him there, hold him--but Fraser
just faded away. He called out, ran out his door after him. But the
hallway was dark now, and empty. Just like his life. He ran downstairs to
the street and spun in a frantic circle on the sidewalk, looking in every
direction for the flame-red of his lover's jacket, but Ben was nowhere in
sight. His calls became screams of frustration, of loss. "Fraser! Ben,
wait! BENNNNNEEEE!"
 
 He woke up yelling. Heart pounding, breathing fast, he reached out and
flipped on his light. "Fraser!" he cried out again. But no one answered.
His gaze fell on his clock. 4:35 a.m. Not even dawn yet…. It was quiet.
Too quiet. And he felt strange. A bit frightened. He could've sworn Fraser
was here, that he'd been with him—but he swept the room with his eyes, and
it was empty. He was alone. 
 
 *Just a dream,* he thought. *Just another goddamn dream….*
 
 He slumped back down onto his pillow, panting, feeling stupid. Feeling
unbearably empty. It had felt so real--and Ben had looked so sad. As if he
somehow knew what he'd done, knew that he'd let Rylan have sex with him,
and it had hurt him. Ray knew that was ridiculous, impossible. *Get a
grip,* he told himself. But he couldn't get the look in Fraser's eyes out
of his mind. It filled his thoughts until his insides knotted painfully. 
 
 He got up and stumbled into his bathroom to take a piss. Didn't look in
the mirror. Didn't even want to see the look that dream must've put into
his own eyes. He was depressed enough already. He just shut off the light
and started shuffling back down the hall to his bedroom. *Frickin' dreams
are gonna drive me nuts,* he thought resentfully. 
 
 But as he headed back to bed, he saw the little circle of beads and
leather he'd hung on the wall above it. His dreamcatcher.
 
 He stopped and stared at it. Ben had made it for him long ago, as a
birthday present. He looked at the white eagle feather that hung in its
center. He remembered Ben telling him, in the midst of a running gun
battle, all about how hard it was to get a real one, about the lengths
he'd gone to. "Freak," he'd said, wondering how anyone could be whacked
enough to blather about crap like that when people were trying to blow
holes in him. 
 
 It wasn't until he'd gotten the thing home, hung it over his bed and
looked it over, really studied the spiderweb-like intricacy of its
interior, and the perfect, careful way the leather had been wrapped around
its outer rim, that he'd realized how much time, effort and patience Ben
had put into making a gift for a guy he didn't even know that well yet.
Okay, so it was a weird kind of gift, but it was still beautiful. *Jesus,
it musta taken him hours and hours,* he'd thought. He'd never admitted it
to Fraser, but he'd marveled at his generosity. That had been one of his
first hints about what an extraordinary guy the Canadian was. 
 
 But the little gift hadn't waited for him to appreciate it. It had worked
its magic that very same day. The day Fraser gave it to him, it had caught
the biggest nightmare of his life, his own personal boogieman, Marcus
Ellery, in its little web for him. 
 
 He just didn't think it was a coincidence. The same day Fraser gave him
the dreamcatcher, he'd caught the man he'd been obsessing about for twenty
five years—what the hell were the odds on that? And then he'd let him go,
which somehow set *him* free too. His obsession with Ellery was over.
Gone. Vanished. He'd felt like a new man, like he'd been born again into
Vecchio's life. He'd felt lucky, like things were going to be different
this time around. Better for him somehow.
 
 And the dreamcatcher was part of all that. He'd never told Fraser that
either, but it gave him an odd sense of security. So he'd never taken it
down, not even after their breakup. He'd left it hanging over his bed,
like a leftover bit of Mountie magic. Big Red juju. Or maybe he'd kept it
because it was the one piece of Fraser he had left, the one bit of
remaining evidence he could use to prove to himself on nights like this
that Ben had once cared about him….
 
 *So what's up with it now?* he wondered. *Why isn't it snatchin' my
nightmares away anymore?* 
 
 Something had to be wrong with it, because you name a kind of nightmare,
and he was having it. Dreams that he was running away from something.
Dreams that he was hopelessly lost in the dark, and couldn't find his way
home. And all of those dreams had Fraser in them somehow. They cut his
sleep short almost every night, they tortured him. 
 
 He stared at the little dreamcatcher, sadness heavy in him. *Maybe it
isn't workin' cuz it was Ben's magic. Maybe it only worked when he cared
about me,* he thought. *Now that he doesn't, I've got no protection.* For
a second, he felt a chill. Then he realized how crazy that sounded. 
 
 "Jeez," he snapped. "Yer not just pathetic, yer goin' nuts!" But telling
himself that didn't seem to help. Even the idea that he was losing it,
that he was probably going to wind up in a nut house, didn't hurt as much
as the thought that Ben didn't love him anymore. That maybe he never had….
 
 He swallowed hard, trying to choke down the huge lump that rose in his
throat, but it was no good. His chest tightened, and his eyes filled with
tears. He ran a shaking hand over his face, and his fingers came away wet.
He shook his head, trying to fight it off. But the pressure built in his
chest. His sadness grew until he knew he was on the verge of bursting out
sobbing like a girl. He bit his lip. *Don't,* he told himself desperately.
*It ain't that bad! So I'm havin' bad dreams. Least I got a new lover now.
I've got Rylan.*
 
 But that didn't help much. The boast didn't ring true, because he knew
how hollow it was. He didn't have a lover, he had a fuck buddy. No, a fuck
*master.* And a selfish, kinky one at that, who didn't even turn him on.
So he was really still alone.
 
 He brushed at his eyes again, wiped away more tears. *Okay, so what if I
am?* he told himself defiantly, trying to banish the sadness his dream had
left in its wake. *It's better that way. No one can hurt you if you don't
care.*
 
 But he knew that he still did. He still cared, because he still hurt. And
he hurt because Fraser's memory wouldn't let go of him. He hadn't seen him
for months, but his ghost still haunted him nearly every night. Still
called to him. His name drummed inside him like a heartbeat. He was still
part of him, as surely as if he had his name tattooed on his arm instead
of the Champion logo; as if it were carved into his bones. He held his
head for a minute, trying to make his name stop sounding in his brain, but
it was no use. There it was: Ben. Benny. Benny Ben. Benton the Beautiful
Fraser. His eagle feather, his magic spell, his lucky charm, his
partner—his love. Everything he wanted but couldn't have. 
 
 *I gotta get outta here,* he told himself. He couldn't look at the
dreamcatcher any more, or he'd go insane. So he padded into the kitchen
and started to make himself some coffee. 
 
 *No point tryin' to sleep now. It ain't gonna happen. Not after that.*
 
 Still, at least he'd avoided the fit of tears that had threatened
earlier. Just barely. At least that was something…. But he knew that even
though he hadn't let them out, the tears were still there, lurking inside
him. His sadness hadn't gone away. The thought crossed his mind, as it
often did lately, that there might be a way to make it stop, to make Ben's
ghost go away. All he'd have to do was swallow his pride and go by the
27th to talk to him. 
 
 *Maybe things have changed. Maybe he'd be glad to see me. Maybe I was
wrong about the whole thing.* That was the worst thought of all, the one
that always came to mind after these damn dreams. *Maybe I shouldn't have
left him….*
 
 Doubts had begun to creep into his self righteous anger at the Mountie;
and they were always the strongest in the dark hours before dawn. In the
aftermath of his dreams about him, he'd remember how hungover he'd been
that morning they'd had their big fight. How crappy he'd felt:
dry-mouthed, red-eyed, his head pounding mercilessly…. Welsh had been
right. He hadn't been in any condition to make important decisions then. 
 
 But that was him: act first, think later. Or maybe not at all. As far as
he could tell, he'd set a personal record for not thinking that morning
when he'd dumped Fraser. He'd thrown him away as casually as you'd throw
away a worn out old boot; and almost done the same with his career.
Luckily, Welsh had talked him out of that, but he couldn't help wishing
that Fraser had managed to convince him not to break up with him, too. Of
the two decisions, he already knew that leaving him had been the more
important one. 
 
 *Jobs are a dime a dozen, but where the hell will I ever find another
lover like him?* 
 
 He wondered for the hundredth time if he'd overreacted to Fraser's
insistence that they talk about their problem. Remembering how he'd shoved
him instead, how he'd yelled at him and broken up with him on the spot, he
winced. He'd been so sure he was right at the time, but he didn't feel
that way now. Now he wondered if it had been a mistake. If maybe Fraser
had been right. Maybe instead of shoving him, he should've told him why he
was mad. Maybe he should've spelled it out, so at least he would've had a
chance to explain, to defend himself. Fraser had asked him to repeatedly.
Hell, he'd almost begged him to. Now, he wished he'd listened to him. 
 
 *Maybe if I had, things would've been different.*
 
 As he stared at the gently bubbling coffee maker, an old memory crossed
his mind. He remembered asking his dad once how he would know for sure
when he'd finally found the right girl, the one he was meant to be with.
"That's a tough one," his dad had said. "But one thing to watch for is if
she closes her eyes when you kiss her. If she doesn't, she's definitely
not the one."
 
 Ray thought painfully, *Ben always closed his eyes when I kissed him.
Always. Just like Stella.*
 
 The coffeemaker's bubbling was noiser now, as it really began to heat up.
He stared at it, wishing he felt that energetic. Wishing he felt anything
at all besides bad. 
 
 After the coffee was brewed, he dropped M & M's into it with unsteady
hands. But as he waited for the candies to dissolve, he remembered how his
dreams of love with Fraser had dissolved just like that when Vecchio came
back and he saw them together. And his anger returned. He knew that if he
went by the 27th, there was a good chance he'd see that again, that he'd
find them together. He'd heard rumors through the blue grapevine that
Vecchio was engaged, that he was going to marry some chick he'd met while
he was undercover, but he didn't really believe them. Now that he was out
of the picture, he thought it was much more likely that Fraser and Vecchio
were lovers.
 
 *Jesus—what if I saw them together?* he thought. *What if I saw Vecchio
kiss him? What if Ben closed his eyes for him too?* A bolt of pure, black
jealousy shot through him. *No,* he said to himself stubbornly. *I'm not
goin' back there. Not ever.*
 
 But inside, he knew it wasn't just jealousy that kept him from going. It
wasn't anger either, or even pride. It went deeper than that. It was fear.
Fear that he'd been wrong about Ben betraying him—that he'd misinterpreted
the whole thing. Fear that Ben might've turned to Vecchio for real now,
for comfort after he'd dumped him. Fear that he might've caused the very
affair he'd thought he was running from.
 
 Fear that he'd lost the second great love of his life through his own
stupid, blind jealousy. That was the thing he really couldn't face. 
 
 Needing the warmth, he cradled his mug in his shaky hands while he waited
for the coffee to cool a bit. Then he gulped it down. Despite the
chocolate he'd added, it still tasted bitter. He drank it anyway, and
stared out the window. It was still dark, and a long way till dawn. He
wondered if Fraser was sleeping. If he was haunted by doubts and dreams
the way he was….
 
 Or if he ever thought of him at all.
 

**************************************************************************
*********
 
 Sometimes I feel like an innocent one
 To deserve this fate, what have I ever done?
 I know that I made all the rules
 But time can even change the hopeless ways of fools
 I love you tonight like I did yesterday
 I won't think of tomorrow or the price I'll pay
 I drink from the well 
 My soul is dry
 I never know why
 All I want is for your love to be all mine
 But the angels won't have it
 
 Melissa Etheridge
 
 
 At 4:35 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, when even the street people were
mostly curled up in doorways sleeping, Fraser sat bolt upright in bed,
covered with a cold sweat. "Ray?" he whispered. He turned on his bedside
lamp and gazed around his room, his heart sinking as he saw that Dief was
its only other occupant.
 
 The wolf lifted his furry head. *Again?* he asked. 
 
 Fraser bowed his head. "Yes," he muttered. He'd dreamed of Ray again,
that he'd gone to see him and asked him why he'd left. Ray hadn't answered
him, but the dream had seemed so real that the echoes of his voice
lingered in Fraser's head, a fading but still audible torment. "Fraser!
Ben! BENNNEEEE!" He closed his eyes, trying to blot them out. 
 
 "It's all right, Dief. Go back to sleep," he said, though he knew from
experience that he himself would find sleep impossible after that.
 
 Dief lowered his head back down onto his paws and watched him with a
worried expression. Ben tried to smile to reassure him, but the expression
didn't come naturally to him anymore, and he quickly gave up the effort. 
 
 He got up instead, went to his window and stared out into the night, as
he often did lately. Wondering where in those miles of cold darkness Ray
was. If he was home, and what he was thinking. The familiar undercurrent
that ran through his mind constantly, waking and sleeping. He'd tried to
avoid self pity, but it was hard not to feel that fate was against him,
that he was cursed, because he'd lost another lover. The thought of Ray
burned inside him like a bank of hot coals in his chest. A fire, concealed
but never dying. He couldn't put it out, or make it go away. He couldn't
even seem to make sense of his life without him--or understand how, in the
teeming masses of this city, he could still feel so alone. 
 
 *Why am I still alone, when I love Ray so much?*
 
 *Because he doesn't love you back. Because no one ever did. Because
you're not worth loving.* The painful answer welled up from deep inside
him, from that place that had been hollowed out inside of him since
childhood, since his mother's death. That deep, dark place where
everything hurt, and where nothing made sense. Just as Ray's leaving made
no sense. 
 
 He'd tried to reject that feeling, tried to tell himself that Ray's
departure wasn't his fault, but he couldn't really be sure, because he
didn't know why he'd left. He'd gone over and over it in his mind in the
months since their breakup. Every angry word Ray had said, every searing
glare was burned into his brain—but he still didn't understand what had
happened. Why he'd lost him. "It's not what I think, it's what you DID,"
Ray had said. He'd replayed that sentence a thousand times in his memory,
as if it were a code he could crack if he tried hard enough, but its
meaning still eluded him. What the hell did Ray think he'd done? What
mistake had he made that had cost him his lover this time?
 
 Fraser didn't doubt that it was his mistake somehow. Like Victoria, Ray
obviously felt he'd done something wrong, something terrible that couldn't
be forgiven. And it had something to do with his failure to return
promptly to his apartment the morning they'd first made love. That much,
he knew.
 
 But that was all he knew. He didn't know what it was, what sin he'd
unwittingly committed that had caused Ray to quit his job, to leave him in
such a fury. As far as he knew, the only thing he was guilty of was
tardiness. It hardly seemed sufficient reason to sever their relationship,
especially when he'd called Ray several times from the café to explain it,
to tell him that Ray Vecchio had returned suddenly and unexpectedly, and
that he would come back as soon as they were done eating breakfast. 
 
 It was a mystery. All he knew for sure was that Kowalski hadn't answered
any of his calls, which meant he was either already gone by then, or too
angry to want to talk to him. He also knew that Ray had disappeared either
while he was out having breakfast with Ray Vecchio or during the half hour
drive to his apartment afterwards, for when he'd returned the GTO,
Kowalski was already gone. He'd checked with his landlady, and she'd said
she'd seen him take off alone, on foot, before he got there. She just
wasn't sure exactly when.
 
 And Fraser didn't understand why. Another mystery. He could've sworn,
from Ray's initial sulkiness at the idea of him leaving, and erotic
teasing after, that he was eager to make love again. So why had he taken
off? He'd considered the possibility that Ray might've grown furious
because he was late getting back, but had rejected it. Ray had never been
particularly punctual himself, nor had he ever been so unreasonable, or so
petty, that he would get upset with him for taking some time to see an old
friend. He'd felt sure that Ray, being a cop himself, would understand why
he wanted to see his former partner again, when he'd just returned from a
long and dangerous undercover assignment with the Mafia.
 
 Fraser felt there was more to Ray's anger than that. He wasn't sure what,
but neither incident seemed sufficient reason for Ray to disappear without
a word as he had, or for his towering fury at work the following Monday
morning. He'd looked red-eyed, pale and depressed, and smelled faintly of
liquor, as if he'd spent the weekend drinking. Fraser had been wise enough
not to bring that up when they talked, but it worried him. Though it would
explain where Ray had disappeared to for most of the weekend, drinking
binges weren't normal behavior for him. Even when Stella had been dating
someone else, and Ray had confessed his love for her with tears in his
eyes, he hadn't gone out drinking to forget his pain. What could he
possibly have done to hurt Ray worse than that, to drive him to drown his
sorrows in a bottle? What had he been so furious about? And why had Ray
insisted that he should know the reason for it without being told? 
 
 Ben rubbed at his eyebrow, mystified as ever when he recalled the
detective's behavior. They were lovers by then. Surely that should have
made Ray more understanding, more willing to explain himself, and to
listen to Ben's explanation, shouldn't it? 
 
 But it hadn't. Far from it. Ray refused to listen to his account of the
incident at all. He'd been completely irrational. He'd blown up, shouted
at him, cursed him, and finally shoved him. *He even kicked my hat,* he
thought, wincing.
 
 He closed his eyes as the pain of it washed over him yet again. He had
seldom been so hurt, so humiliated, in all his life. And the worst of it
was Ray's refusal to tell him why. Why he was so angry at work on Monday
morning, and why he'd left his apartment on Saturday without waiting for
him. His unexpected departure had worried Fraser so much that when he'd
returned his car, he'd then waited outside his apartment for four long
hours. He'd hoped that when Kowalski came back, he could apologize to him
for returning so late. He'd wanted to explain about the momentous,
unexpected event that had delayed him….
 
 But Ray had never come back. Eventually, he'd given up on waiting,
slipped the key to Ray's car under his door and walked home again. Still,
he'd called him repeatedly from a pay phone all the rest of that day and
long into the night, trying to explain. But if Kowalski had come home
again, he'd never answered those calls. Or responded to the messages he'd
left on his answering machine. Increasingly worried, he'd walked to his
apartment at nine o'clock the next morning, to try to talk to him. But
again, he never got the chance. If Ray had ever returned home the previous
night, he was gone again by then. Ben had walked home again, his worry
deepening. More phone calls to Ray on Sunday had met with the same
silence.
 
 Fraser had been so worried by Sunday night that he'd hardly slept. So
he'd asked Ray Vecchio for a ride to the 27th early the next morning,
before his shift began at the Consulate, hoping to iron things out with
Kowalski there. But that attempt had ended in an even worse failure, a
complete breach between them. Ray had told him there was something wrong,
that he should know what it was, and that it meant they couldn't be lovers
anymore. Then he'd refused to talk about it any further. When he'd
persisted in asking what he'd done, Ray had finally blown up, shoved him
into a filing cabinet, and told him to get out, that he never wanted to
see him again. Then he'd transferred out, to the 29th District's Narcotics
Division.
 
 *Perhaps I should be glad he didn't hit me again,* Fraser thought
bleakly. But he didn't feel glad. He felt wounded, like he had when
Victoria left him. Hollowed out inside, with nothing left behind but his
hopeless love for Ray Kowalski, and the pain it caused. In fact, he felt
even worse this time. At least when Victoria left, he'd been able to talk
to Ray Vecchio about her, which had helped immensely. But discussing his
passion for Kowalski with Vecchio was impossible. Not only was Vecchio
homophobic, but he'd also developed an instant, and rather puzzling,
dislike for Kowalski. They'd only met twice, and very briefly at that, but
now Vecchio's eyes narrowed and turned cold whenever Ray's name was
mentioned. So Fraser didn't dare confess his love for him. In fact, he
felt guilty for being unable to conceal his depression about having lost
him. Worse, he felt like an idiot for being unable to understand what had
gone wrong between them, for having so little experience with
relationships that he couldn't even fathom what Ray thought he had done.
 
 His emotions were so tangled, so complex and contradictory…. He knew he
shouldn't be depressed, that he should be happy that Ray Vecchio had come
back, that he was home safe after such a dangerous assignment. And he was.
It was wonderful seeing Ray again, working with him, knowing that he was
safe and that he didn't have to worry about him anymore. But that didn't
fill the emptiness inside him, for Ray had changed too. Though he'd taken
up his old job at the 27th, Fraser no longer saw very much of him outside
of working hours, as he spent most of his free time with Serena. 
 
 Though that left him lonely, Fraser tried hard not to mind it. He liked
Serena very much, and he could see that she was good for his friend. She
and Ray had settled into a busy pattern of house hunting, buying
furniture, arranging their wedding and doing all of the things that
couples planning their future together do; and Serena had never brought up
the subject of Jimmy Maxwell, and Ray's previous involvement with him,
again. So Fraser had assumed that either she'd regretted doing it in the
first place, or that whatever was troubling her—or Ray—about it had been
resolved. So he didn't mention Maxwell to Ray, who seemed to be in
continuing high spirits. Ray had even promised him that once their wedding
was over and they'd settled into their new life, they'd do more things
together. Shoot some hoops, like they used to. Get together for dinner.
And he'd tried to tell himself that that would be enough.
 
 He knew very well that neither Ray nor Serena meant to exclude him. In
fact, Serena had done her best to include him in their activities, as
she'd promised she would. She often invited him along on their shopping
expeditions, but Ben always declined. He knew she was trying to cheer him
up, but he also knew that watching her and Ray pick out towels and dish
patterns would only remind him of what he'd lost, and plunge him deeper
into depression. Other than a few, ultimately disastrous days with
Victoria and a year in RCMP Depot long ago, he'd never lived with anyone
else. So what could he contribute to their shopping trips? He had scant
knowledge of cohabitative domesticity.
 
 *And now that Ray Kowalski's broken up with me, I probably never will.* 
 
 He closed his eyes, remembering Kowalski's bitter last words to him. *I
don't wanna talk to you again, I don't wanna see you again—in fact, I
don't wanna so much as catch a glimpse of yer little red coat, or I will
pop you one…. Keep yer fuckin' hands off me! Don't ever touch me again!*
 
 The words rang in his head as he stared blindly out his window. A tear
followed them, but it slipped down Fraser's cheek unnoticed. He had an
alarming tendency towards tears lately when he was alone, and he'd stopped
trying to hold them back. He was afraid that if he did, the pressure would
build up inside of him until he'd crack publicly, and humiliate himself in
front of others. So sometimes now, when he woke from dreams of Ray and his
eyes spilled over, he didn't even bother to wipe his tears away. He just
let them fall, let himself weep until his sorrow returned to bearable
levels. 
 
 Sometimes he wished the tears would wash away Ray's memory, but they
never did. His heart was still tied to him, to a man he couldn't have. He
couldn't help remembering how he'd worried, after their first night
together, that Ray didn't really love him. Now he'd realized, to his
sorrow, that it must be true. Ray didn't love him, Ray didn't even want
him. His transfer to another district seemed proof of that.
 
 But even that hadn't ended the matter. Despite the fact that Ray didn't
return his feelings, Fraser still loved him so much that his behavior at
the 29th was giving him nightmares. In the few short months he'd been
working Narcotics there, he'd garnered a reputation as a hotshot, a wild
man who would go anywhere, do anything to make a bust. No crackhouse was
too dangerous, no drug lord too well-armed to deter him. He was taking
suicidal chances, and so was his young partner, Patrick Rylan. Fraser
couldn't help wondering why Ray's new Captain, a man named Harlan, was
allowing it. Perhaps he valued the number of arrests his men made more
than their safety. And to make matters worse, Fraser had heard unsettling
rumors about Rylan. Rumors that he was bisexual and worse. Rumors that he
was a sadist, and that he and Ray were—
 
 Fraser swallowed hard, and gripped the window frame tightly as a wave of
vertigo swept over him. Or maybe it was nausea, at the thought of a sadist
putting rough hands on Ray's soft skin. At the thought of someone else
making love to him. Or worse, hurting him…. At least Fraser hoped it was
dizziness, nausea, or some momentary bodily malfunction that had suddenly
made him sway forward, and not some insane urge to hurl himself out of the
window. Dief whined behind him, as if he'd noticed the sudden move and
worried that he might be considering just that.
 
 Fraser wasn't entirely sure that Dief was wrong. What he'd feared most,
on that momentous night in Ray's car when he'd first kissed him, had come
true. Once again he'd given his soul for love, and again, it had been torn
to shreds. Just like that time with Victoria. But this time the pain was
worse, because he'd been hurt by someone he trusted absolutely—for reasons
he didn't even understand.
 
 Worse still, this time he'd had no time to recover, no quiet interval
alone in a hospital bed in which to heal his broken heart. Since he wasn't
injured, he had no valid reason to request time off. Besides, even if he
had been able to come up with some excuse for leave that would've
satisfied Inspector Thatcher, he wouldn't have been able to justify it to
Ray Vecchio. Ray had always been able to see past any front he tried to
put up, if his suspicions were aroused; and Ben knew he was worried about
him as it was. Asking for leave after Ray Kowalski left him would've set
Vecchio's internal alarms to shrieking. Then Ray would've been after him,
teasing at first, then demanding answers, and finally yelling at him in an
effort to pry the truth out of him; and Fraser was so upset that he knew
he wouldn't have been able to resist him for long. Eventually, he would've
broken down and confessed everything—and if Ray Vecchio ever found out he
was in love with another man, he would lose the one friend he had left in
the world.
 
 Ben couldn't afford to do that. Losing his friendship as well as
Kowalski's would've killed him. So, caught between the proverbial rock and
a hard place, he'd reported helplessly for duty the morning that Ray
Kowalski broke up with him, and every day since. He'd done his duty as
best he could, had tried to pretend that nothing was bothering him, but
the strain of that was telling on him. Thoughts of Ray tormented him,
waking and sleeping. He saw him in his dreams almost every night, and had
trouble sleeping afterwards. Inevitably, he'd grown distracted. He'd begun
making mistakes. Nothing major, just some minor errors in the routine
reports he was required to fill out, but for him, they were unprecedented.
Hard evidence that he was coming apart at the seams. 
 
 And inevitably, others had started to notice. The Inspector had already
reprimanded him for not paying enough attention to his work, and Ray
Vecchio was watching him with a worried look in his eyes. Asking him if
everything was okay far more often than he should have. Secretly, he was
filled with despair. All too often lately, when he stared out of his
window late at night while the rest of the world slept, he had the urge to
lose himself somehow. Leave all his pain behind. 
 
 The amount of time he was spending near his window had begun to worry
him. So did the urges he got when he was near it. The way he'd begun to
imagine falling. The dizziness of it, the air rushing past his ears until
that final moment—
 
 Not that he'd ever do anything like that, of course. He was a Fraser, and
Frasers didn't quit. Ever. No matter what. His strange fantasies of
falling were just that: fantasies, not reality. Just odd, random thoughts
which he experienced, but would never act upon. Besides, even if he'd
wanted to—which, of course, he didn't--he couldn't have, because even in
his sorrow, he wasn't entirely alone. He still had Dief, who was his
responsibility--who needed him.
 
 Still, he trembled looking down. *But I need Ray….*
 
 That was the real hell of it. Though Kowalski had hurt and humiliated
him, he still couldn't stop wanting him. Needing him. He still dreamed
about making love with him, about the intensity of it, both emotional and
physical. He longed for the heady excitement he'd felt in Ray's arms, the
incredible, hot sensual pleasure. And the quieter, but equally powerful
sense of closeness, of soul-deep communion, that he'd felt when Ray had
lain still and let him touch him all over, afterwards. That was unlike
anything he'd felt before, even with Victoria. He'd never known love so
sweet, because for once, his feelings had been based on trust, on shared
experiences—on friendship. He longed to regain that trust, to repair the
damage he'd somehow unwittingly done. Even now, he would've done anything
to bring Ray back, if he'd only known how. 
 
 But he didn't. Wishing couldn't bring him back, and neither could crying.
He'd done enough of both to know. He'd also considered more rational
options such as calling him, or going to the 29th to try to patch things
up. But he didn't believe that would work, either. Ray had been so furious
and so unreasonable when they parted, that Fraser felt any attempt at a
reconciliation on his part would only result in another humiliating
rejection. 
 
 He didn't think he could bear that. 
 
 He could almost hear his father's voice in his head, intoning the same
words he'd said once before when Ben had stood crying by this very window,
over a woman who'd torn his heart out. *Sometimes that's all you need in
life, son, is that second chance. But it's the one thing you're never
going to get.*
 
 He wiped away his tears with unsteady hands. He hadn't had a second
chance with Victoria, and it seemed he wasn't going to get one with Ray,
either. He understood that. Life was harsh sometimes; that was just the
way things were. What he didn't understand was how he was supposed to go
on anyway, without that chance—without Ray. If only his father could've
explained that….
 
 If only.
 
 But he hadn't seen his father for weeks. It seemed no one wanted to be
around him anymore. Not that he blamed them. But he needed someone to
confide in, someone to talk to. Needed it so badly…. "Dad?" he croaked,
hoping against hope. But as usual lately, no one answered.
 
 Had his father finally left him for good? Taken off for greener pastures,
or whatever passed for those where he was? Or he was hovering somewhere
nearby, invisibly watching as he slowly went to pieces over Ray? Was he
waiting to see what happened at his window? Watching to see if his son was
made of Mountie steel, or if he was going to crack like an eggshell? 
 
 He felt a flash of resentment. "Typical," he snapped. "This is so typical
of you, Dad! Let an embarrassing situation arise, and wild horses couldn't
keep you away. But you're never around when I really need you. Thanks a
lot!" Then he fell silent again, realizing that he sounded petty.
Childish. Desperate. Perhaps even pathetic. Knowing it wasn't really his
father he was upset with, anyway. He was too busy hating himself to have
time for that. He looked down at the darkened sidewalk outside his window,
and tried not to think about falling. Again.
 
 Finally, he forced himself to let go of the window frame and go back to
bed. But after he laid down in it, he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling,
unsleeping. *I want to go home,* he thought, desperate. He tried to soothe
himself by thinking of sunrise at his cabin, of the way the sun turned the
gray dawn sky to molten gold, of the many hues and colors it created in
northern snows. But the only color his mind could visualize, it seemed,
was blue. 
 
 Somewhere along the way, home had ceased to be white snow, gold sunrises
and a cabin. It had become blue eyes.
 
 "You're a fool," he whispered out loud.
 
 
 
 The End
 
 To learn what happens next, please read the next story in this series,
"Midnight Blue". It should be posted in the next month or so.
 
 To email the author: Ardrian15@aol.com